http://slow.writerscafe.org/JessicaGadziala The original writings of author JessicaGadziala en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776009851 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 "Cupcakes"- 1-5-14You have to learnto not listen to that voice atthree AM telling you how thecalories wont love youand that empty feels more powerfulthan giving into temptation-because sometimes the cupcakeshave the answersand sometimes the answer is ingetting out of yourtoo-empty-to-sleep-in bedcra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1293667/ "The Ungrateful Earth"- 1-4-14I can count the times I have used the scene of him giving my heart back smashed with a hammer as a reasonto never let someone else hold my hand onthe Christmas lights I am taking off the tree- and no matter the fire hazard of thirty strands- I would run o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1292999/ "Tread Lightly"- 12-28-13It's six a.m. and I am thinking about not eating againabout the numberson the nutrition labelsand the tape measureand the treadmill readoutand the scale maybe going down for a changebecause I am starting to take up too much spaceand maybe if I could shrinkand contortand.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1289335/ It was all fluorescent lights,and vinyl covered booths and I laughed for the first timein more months than I care to admit-and I let a stranger run hisfingers through my hairand fantasized about the personacross the faux wood tabletop-a man who would take me to playsand other countries,who will.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1274823/ I forgive thosewho never deserved a second chanceor thirdor fourthof fifteenthand I lick the wounds in silentself-loathing-their names bringing memoriesas sharp as knives and I can feelmy resolve slip with everyunanswered call and textmistakingly thinking I canget my point across better with si.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1274818/ I cant wash him out of my haireven though it has completelygrown new since the last timehis fingers stroked its softness from my scalp to my hips-I cut it all off and felt naked and unprotected without itsfullness to hide behind-but somehow he is theredeep in the root, forever-and I cant u.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1273105/ I could write a million linesin a hundred poetry booksand every word would dripheavy of your nameeven ones about other menwho have come since youleft me standing with my heart in my hands-somehow you would be therejust under the surfacemaking my similies and metaphorsabout love trip clumsy&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1273092/ I couldn't get back two yearsof my life spent worryingmyself to ulcers over someonewho could never love me as muchas he claimed.And I cant erase the personit made me becomeweak and passive and so consumedwith someone else that I forgot how to be myself.But I could wear clothes I wouldn't b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1272565/ I swear this razor only begsto kiss my skinon nights like thistoo long and lonely and overflowing with thoughts of him-though the "him" has changedthree times in two yearsI can count the disappointmentin scars instead of days or weeks or months anymore-and I guess it is an evolution o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1272335/ Don't call him.It wont solve anything to reach out because the nights are gettinglonger and colder.Take a hot shower, drink a cup of teaand go to bed early for a change. I know the temptation can feel stronger than your needto cut your hair when life becomes stale-but you will only regret .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1272077/ There have been studies that suggestsleeping clutching a pillow releasesthe same endorphins as falling asleep with a lover-and I hope it is true as I feel thehollow lack of a heartbeat against my ear as I fall into a restless sleep and I have a dream where he shows memore passion in f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1272028/ I had a dream last nighthe called me his in a dingylittle unfamiliar kitchenand then he pulled me closekissed my foreheadand told me he loved me.I woke up to the realizationthat he hasn't evencalled me beautiful in moremonths than I care to admit."unfamiliar kitchen"- 11-12-13-jessicagadziala http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1265885/ Sometimes I punish myself with thescene of his goodbye-the instantanious sadness,the overwhelming feeling of worthlessness-to remind myself to never allowanother to become a biggerpart of myself than me."final act"- 11-11-13- jessicagadziala http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1265603/ He knows how I look nakedstripped down to my soulcuddled to his chest cryingharder than I had since childhood.He knows my voicein love and in anger-and my silence that screams louderthan any words could.He had bridged that gap betweenbest friend and lover-but now he is just a stranger&nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1265259/ I'm hoping when I leave thatyour bed smells like my perfumeotherwise you'll probably forgetI was even thereuntil the next time you need a soft place to land.I feel you love me in parts-hands easy to holdhair to run your fingers throughhipbones to tickleand lips to kiss-but the package as a whol.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1263431/ I would love you in any language-my native tongue spilling intricate sonnets to your name-or confused and lost on a street in France, unfamiliar with their words butthen I would see your face and Je t'aime would come naturally.I could meet you in your homeland- lush gre.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1263421/ he holds his coffee like a lifeline-his eyes electric with anxiety alonein a corner booth-and each time the door opens he looks up eager with hope, unwillingto accept the truth.and I can feel his disappointmentsharp like a knifebecause if there's anything at allI know in this lifeit is disappoi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1263406/ I found a poem I had lost years agoback when the fierceness of new lovewas enough to keep even the wolves atthe door at bay-and suddenly I wish I had written moreback when the warmth of your love wasa blanket I could curl up in to sleep at night-because I feel like everything my pen bleeds now .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1262467/ I never should have led him to that beach dark but the crescent moon and the waves crashing like memories refusing to stay away-He buried my feet to keep them warm, and I never should have laid down like an invitation- getting sand in my hair and refusing to turn my hea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1262426/ Some days I would swear I amsacred-the universe bursting from my fingertips-but mostly I am justbones wrapped in flesh too easily torn-as small asa mouse at the edge of the Grand Canyon-full of the knowledge of howinconsequential I really am-just a body taking up spaceand airdestined to spend my nig.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1262423/ The problem is he didnt gently put me down-he dropped meand my piecessplintered all around.and I guess I just didn't have the suppliesneeded to soften my edges.So when anyone triesto hold me tightthey come up bloody and bruisedskin scarred and painfulfrom being loved and abusedand the prob.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1262421/ I can buy myself flowers-ones that I would like toodaffodils and lilacsshasta daisies- insteadof the roses that smell like valentines hopes turnedto disappointment.And I can take myself to dinner-eat all my food and order dessert without feelingself-concious.And I can wear heels withoutwor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1262394/ I have this fear thatwith all this giving ofsecond chancesI have given away somethingvital of myself-my hopeor idealsor standards for how I know I should be treated.Though when my arms find themselvesempty for months on end,excuses become easierthan sticking to my morals.But maybe falling aslee.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1262392/ maybe he will taste likehope-a risk worth takingexcitement and new chancesto not make the same old mistakes.maybe he will grasp mewith enough pressure toassure me he will hold my handwithout holding me backan anchor who will give mejust enough slackthough not enough to hang myselflike I have a tende.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1262390/ I want to borrow his booksand admire his scribbles in hisnotebook margins-steal sips from his coffee and trace his scars.and he can perch himself on thekitchen counter, discussing planswe will never keep while Ichop vegetables for dinner-and we can kiss for no reason and waste far too many.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1261670/ He is a red wine headache-vague memories of a night meantto go better and morning's regret.Feeling strangely out of placedissheveled and full of thatsuddenly all-too frequent dissapointment in my actionsor myself.He is that aching in my temples-the light that hurts my eyes-the insistant wobbly .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1261663/ I want someone who will saymy name like a rosary-quiet and hopeful-I want someone who will look at melike christmas morning-full of wonder and joy-And I want someone who will hold melike the bombs are falling-tight and desperate to make the moment and our love lasteven as the world crumbles aro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1261662/ He left bruises on my throat for a week-once lifted me and threw me across a bed like my entire existance was nothingcompared to the strength in his arms-he wanted me like a fistwants something to slam into-because he was a springwound too tightly with memories of herand all the things he never.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1261660/ I want impossible things-to be kissed like the war is over,pulled backward and overcome with passion on a busy street-to feel the wonder of the first time Ifelt hands on my skin, shivers and butterflies-or the overwhelming comfort of being loved for the first time andthe innocence to belie.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JessicaGadziala/1261658/