Round Midnight...

"...it begins to tell round midnight...memories always start round midnight, haven't got the the heart to stand those memories..." -Thelonius Monk


As a singer/poet/writer/songwriter I find myself completely naked 87% of the time--these times usually occurring while I'm enveloped in my element. Now, I don't mean naked as in I like walking around my house naked and singing [as liberating as that sounds]...naw, I mean my soul is continually being stripped bare and exposed for the world to see when I get up on stage and do my thing...and the most exposing is the poetry....

In the grand scheme of things, I have convinced myself that, not only am I a target for Pain's grueling assaults, but I'm built for it...it's my inspiration...my drug...


I'm on it like an IV drip pulsing thru my veins
Systematically scrape my fingers across any given page
Bleed out the cure to calm my rage
Collect it and perpetuate it right back thru...
I'm addicted.Can't Kick it.The Cycle Continues -Phoenix


Until I leave the stage/put the pen down/close my laptop, then I'm still left bare and cold and forced to look at this bruised shell housing these memories...and the self reflecting always seems to start 'round midnight'...haven't got the heart to stand them sometimes[the memories]. Now, as necessary as it may be, self reflection for me is a ridiculously painful process which usually results in tears and a headache (and not necessarily in that order) . You have to understand, my independent nature has routinely shaped me into a machine. Machines don't have emotions, they just do...oil them up, work out the kinks and keep it moving. I am, however, not a machine and I think the only one surprise by this revelation was me. In hindsight (along w/me being virtually emotionless) my years leading up to my twenties consisted of me picking up lots of baggage. Bags of all shapes and sizes...totes, clutches, saddlebags, hobo bags etc...but these bags are getting heavy and so it's really time to let some things go.

At this point and time, I've finally found the first BIG thing that I'm leaving at 24. 25 will not see me wasting borrowed time over my issues with my parental units. To oblige you with a bit of background--> I have a biological Mother, and a Biological Father and they are both irresponsible...so much so that I've since snatched their titles and relabeled them my 'Egg' & 'Sperm' Donors (respectively)... and as angry as I am that they are just two grown kids, the thing that has hurt me the most is that neither one of them want me...one of them gave me away & the other gave me away, kidnapped me, gave me back, came back, dragged me along thru the court system for about 6 yrs of my life than disappeared etc... growing up, I stayed close to the family I had that loved me and the wonderful Mother I do have in my life, but I don't think--no, I KNOW I never got over that neglect. Someone asked me today, why adopted kids always wanna know about their original parents. I think, for me, it was b/c I actually know my Biologicals on a first name basis and have thusly taken it very personal that they don't like me enough to love me enough to want to [at least] sit down and talk to me on a consistent basis...it's not like I'm lacking in conversation. I can go from 'playoffs' to 'music production' to 'makeup' w/in seconds...I'm like a buffet--something for everybody!! ::sigh:: So yeah, I've been letting my heart bamboozle my mind into truly believing [more so hoping] that one day they will approve...gosh, I don't know-prolly never will know-why it's so important to me that they give me their nod of validation...Meanwhile, today is monumental b/c I've finally come to terms with the fact that, My Egg & Sperm Donor may NEVER get right...they may never validate me...they may never call me again...they may never even acknowledge my features when they look in the mirror at night...and that's okay...and No, it's not ok for Phoenix (the poet) or for the j.claude up on stage singing her heart out or for the Jen holding the hands of those in need around her--but for Jennifer...me...just-mE...the me that curls up on my couch every single night clutching Tigger tight and praying that the dry season comes soon (more Sun, less tears)...the me asking God to spare me one more day so I can prove to him that I'm thankful for what I do have...the me that wants to focus less on what I am missing...the me that wants to be loved for all of my flaws and past my pain. I'm tired or breathing it in...getting my quick fix...blurring out my reality and replacing it with a myriad of fallacies painted up to resemble the best of my past and the worse of my future...

But yeah, today I officially started living. It hurts...but most healing processes are uncomfortable...and altho I 'haven't got the heart to stand these memories', I know I'll keep them filed away...I still need the inspiration...still gotta get naked...still gotta see this bruised shell housing these memories...gotta see Me [for my past] and love Me [into my future]...and I'm okay with that. Matter of fact I'm starting to look forward to meeting up w/Ole Midnight again--and in the not too distant future even. You know, catch up a bit. Usually busy around lunch...it'll have to wait til after suppertime. Prolly later on into the evening. Round about midnight... or, you know, something like that... ;o)

-j