His Unrelenting Insanity and the Secret Behind Adoring a Psychopath.

 

It was cold then, that Saturday, when his arms let go...

there were ten thousand women I would have rather been in that moment, there were three hundred different voices I wished to possess, there were seventeen things I wanted to say and I would have

cut my hair

so he never would have known me at all.

He wasn't the heart that beat me, no, he was the shadow I fell behind and the wind that kissed me when Autumn dropped, I survived though my tongue swelled from all the honesty that was stuck there, my teeth mimicked the clock~

ticking and clicking~

as I waited for time

to heal me...

and I thought I knew better than that, I would have told you, if you had asked me in that moment,

that I never knew love and April never touched me,

April never left her prints across my back.

It's sunlight that scars the eyes, leaving flashes of memories that are never there, arms reach out to hold her when midnight strikes, staining hallways with tears and fingers that grasp at nothing, he never saw me in those moments, I

hid out

in the shadows that traced him, I disappeared somewhere beneath him and he was never the type to

look down

he never learned how to fall.

I studied my feet and forgot who I was when he smiled, his teeth never kept even with time anyway, his tongue always spoke of things minutes had never felt and I knew who we were despite denial, the denial that stuck to me when I couldn't swallow...

the truth that was written all over my back.

He turned me over, God, he flipped me around, he was

everything

when nothing mattered and I lay there pressing my stomach against May, ecstasy erasing logic once again, he whispered in my left ear and his words

stuck

inside of me, appearing in front of my eyes like shadows at midnight when sunlight burned my sight and insanity questioned me for hours, for the time that kept

ticking and clicking

through my teeth

when I begged for him

danced under empty blankets and messed my bed, made my knees rise, caused my thighs to forget logic and the promises that were impossible to keep but repeated themselves when tears stained my face and loneliness placed her chilled hands across my back...

marking me, forcing screams to roll off of my swollen tongue, turning me into

ten thousand different woman and two lips that never stopped

moving

to kiss him when time healed me and the months I stood in his shadow

grew out my hair.

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Elephants & Coyotes]

I am floored.
This is an absolute piece of brilliance.
Your words crawl beneath the skin, into the brain, and create images and call forth emotions in a way that I rarely see words work.
I am constantly looking for fabulous writers like you, to keep me aware of what's possible with words.
This is an astounding piece.
"marking me, forcing screams to roll off of my swollen tongue, turning me into
ten thousand different woman and two lips that never stopped."
love these lines.
I'm glad I came across this, and I look forward to reading more work by you!

[An owl on the moon]

Your words are truly colored brush strokes of seasons and shades; feelings so deep in your colors... Amazing, brilliant words that strike chords deep inside...

[A.J. Smith]

Geez, Jeanmarie...you continue to blow me away with your work. Your style, your poetic art, is unique and all your own...and just so totally amazing to read and take in.

[Hedra Helix]

Oh my gosh you are amazing! what else is there to say? Wow!

[Crazy Cat Man]

brilliant piece :D

[Mercury Mirrors]

o.o I LOVEEEE THIS! :]

[Anhedonia 1349]

In order for a poem to be successful, it requires that a lot of things **click** from the get go. For that reason, when we examine truly amazing poetry, we notice a myriad of things relating and flowing and mixing together to form the end product that we enjoy so much. And that's why my heart reaches out and grabs hold of your works so strongly. Your pieces have a lot going for them - far more than I could put words to, in fact. But what I want to do is touch on just a few of the things that I think you do (so very incredibly) right.

The first thing I enjoy about your piece(s) is your structure. See, when the world reads your title they see " *insert title here* - A POEM by Jeanmarie Marchese". And that's part of the beauty of your piece - you call it POETRY (which it is, without a doubt) even though it appears a very striking cousin of good ol' Prose. Syntactually, you use the same elements one would expect to see in a prose piece (full sentences, capitalization, punctuation); at the same time, however, you split them apart so as to emphasize elements that prose would simply neglect. Your splits then go on to form some sort of paragraph-stanza hybrid that pieces your words together using a perfect blend of smooth and rough. Stop and go. Poignant and crippled. I love that more than you know. It reminds me of a Modernist approach to freshness of style that we've almost lost overall. It reminds me of Ezra Pound. It reminds me of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It reminds me of T.S. Elliot and e e cummings and all those folks who decided that normal black-and-white Romantic-era grammar wasn't going to hold them back. It's totally fresh and totally brilliant.

Then, I get blown away by the layers and layers of imagery. Imagery that's different but the same; ideas that are completely foreign and yet perfectly intertwined. I get bombarded with picture upon picture of winter and autumn and summer; my perception is constantly being molded beneath scenes filled with naive admiration, then with shattered disgust, and finally with aggressive intimacy. Your images are made even more real by the clear and decisive techniques you use to make them concrete as opposed to abstract; I particularly like how you use "ten thousand women" and "three hundred different voices" and "seventeen things I wanted to say" as opposed to something distant like "several" or "a bunch" or "some". You make me feel as that you were so caught up in the moment - in each and every moment - that you would have even gone so far as to list the pros and cons of the situation. And that's really what this poem is, isn't it? It's a half-poem / half-journal in which you strain your heart to squeeze out some idea of what's right and what's wrong with the situation you find yourself in. And I wouldn't rework that structure one bit.

One of the images I see being utilized time and again is that of the powerful woman. The woman in charge. I'm sure I needn't clarify how sexy we as men find a strong, powerful woman; the woman behind this poem is no different. She's electrifying. She's dominant. And even when she's being ironically interrupted by her romantical, love-induced twin, I find that the combination is wonderfully woven and perfectly executed. I particularly like the imagery of a woman shedding her hair - her "golden locks of beauty," if you will - in order to defy whomever and whatever may need defying. Again, you clash this image with the closing version of a maiden regrowing her locks for the sole purpose of pleasing someone wonderful. I think this image is a strong statement about the courage of your damsel, and I directly liken it to the idea of the heroine in the story "White Oleander". I also like the constant reference to miscellaneous markings across your damsel's back. Again, it brings a spicy fervor to the piece that lets us know precisely the woman we're dealing with - one who's both encouraged and disgusted by her wounds. Your two-sided imagery is deepened, also, as you highlight both the healing and harmful natures of the world around us. I particularly love your reference to the sun and how it brightens the mood only when it's not tearing through happiness. That's almost a personification of the piece.

And as strange as it is (for me in particular), I find the fact that your piece ends happily to be one of my absolute favorite aspects of the story. It's a perfect story line, especially when applied to a woman whose entire world was torn apart throughout the first three stanzas of the piece. It's both uplifting in its content, but also inspirational much as the Biblical story of Job seems to be. I mean, who wouldn't want to read that a piece filled with line after line of emotional and mental heartache can go so far as to reawaken the lively spirit of the heroine. And her heart. And her hair.

I think I'm still a bit skeptical though. Because the beau you describe here seems to be that typical "heart break" guy. The guy who **knows** he can grab a woman and do with her what he pleases only to turn his back and harden his heart on a moment's notice. And as is so often the case, your damsel does what the heart begs for (even though logic demands otherwise) - she goes back. And he's got quite the silver-tongue, as a dishonest and heart-wrenching man **must** have in order to go around and spread his venom. I dare say, however, that the healing power of time will prove to be just a mirage for your heroine (assuming she stays with her man); I'll go out on a limb and say that her locks will only grow their previous lengths before winter will again come and leave your lady speechless behind swollen tongues and vile heartache.

But alas - what would life be if there were no ups to flatten downs and no downs to brighten ups?

I get a lot out of this piece. I get a lot contentually (I've only brushed the surface here) but I also get a lot in other areas. I think I may have even left out some of the structural elements in order to pursue the storyline a bit more. Of course, I could write about this piece for volumes and volumes.

If I had to summarize it in a word, however, I'd go with "classic". Seriously. You know a lot about narrative control and you show it and expound up it every single time you squeeze out a piece. I couldn't expect more from a read on this site. And I doubt to find more any time soon.

[Vlazuvius]

I don't know what to say other than that this is amazing. The feeling of loosing yourself when someone else smiles at you...well, your poem gave me shivers.

[Kara Emily Krantz]

f**k the world; this is brilliant.

i'm glad i waited for the right moment to read this. i'm finally relaxed, surrounded by mountains, and can breathe - but then there you go stealing all my breath from me.

this is gorgeousness.

for me, it brought up the pain of wanted to possess someone, in a purely tender way, and of needing to be needed - the way you want. and the emptiness that comes from not receiving that. and then the passion that ensues and momentarily placates you - or at least fills the void for a while. there were some really sexy parts, with the flipping you around and the thighs, etc.

i loved the way you brought the hair length thing right from the start to the finish. that worked beautifully, tying everything together in that breathless way that you do.

of course, the first verse is my favorite (the one you read to me the other day) but the entire piece was really striking.

"so he never would have known me at all."

"I survived though my tongue swelled from all the honesty that was stuck there"

"as I waited for time
to heal me..."


"I disappeared somewhere beneath him and he was never the type to

look down"


"He turned me over, God, he flipped me around, he was
everything
when nothing mattered"

Jesus, woman - that is brilliant and hot and everything poetry should be.


all in all, this has to be my favorite of yours so far. which i'm sure will stay that way until the next one, and then the next.

but truly - i am beyond impressed.

muah - adore you

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Your words are brilliant as they express how one can lose themselves when they are in love with someone no good for them... trying harder and harder to please them and in the end forgetting who they really are... Loved the dark edginess to this.