http://slow.writerscafe.org/jenniferleanne The original writings of author jenniferleanne en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776068425 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Living, lying, lonely,I die on my bedEvery night alone,So lonely. Wispy white wispsSwaying in the wind,Dead skinFloating from my breasts. Fall, fall, fall,Trampled on the ground,One by one,Cell by cell,Invisible. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1249529/ I watch as the clock on my cell phoneturns from 10:59 to 11 pm.  Thisrecurrence signals my journey to sleep. Again.  I turn off the TV.  I don’t like listening to the politicaldebates anyways.  No matter who wins thetitle of American nobility, I will stil.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1249527/ Father said, “Never talk to strangers.”Mother always told her to obey.  But noone expected this cruelty in Suburbia--not her, not them.            Rummaging through her glovecompartment, she needed to find that lip.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1012176/ Brambled branches bareBare my soul,Few leaves scatteredIn the night. Stars spot the skyLike a long-lostLove forgotten,Few and far between. Dark navy blue,Silk of the sky,My eyes sparkleWith a hope renewed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1004909/ As each rain drop falls,Penetrates my brain,My soul only calls,Futile to refrain From calling out to Mine own cloud, raining,Drip, dripping intoThe stream now claiming My true consciousness--Drowning out my whole:Full of life, dead, lessThan me as you've grown http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1004907/ The way you make me feel:Rain sliding down your window pain,A new pair of shoes,The breaking of a fast of life,A tree blown in the wind. Watching, feeling pain and hunger, bending,Never breaking,You still bring me beauty and joy.That is how you make me feel. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1004905/ Too much talk.Put it on paper.Words are not tangible.Too much talk. Too much talk.Put it in the past.Memories are not tangible.Too much talk. Too much talk.Put it on a pedestal.Wishes are not tangible.Too much talk. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1004902/ On November 3, a lonely woman reclinesin a caramel leather chair.  With a glassof red wine in one hand and a copy of Romeoand Juliet open in the other, she faces the hearth of a blazing fire.  Watching the passionate dancing of thevibrant red and orange flames, she wonders why .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/jenniferleanne/1004896/