Sentenced to paragraphs. Don't have the mana to craft my way outta this one. Red white and doomed. Wrote a whole novel in my head that summer; released it via Harpers-Collins; sold 100k copies on the dot.
Jen. Jennifer the Italo-disco ball. Beautiful and tragic; darkened lines of head-confidence. Love, set, match me up. I'm 16 semicolon page-break spring break college flake and almost twenty-eight. Close enough. Open heart purgery. Fuck off.
Wrote too many novellas that weekend. English literaturist; let's try to uh ...
Jennifer the boot-wearer; pink-nail bearer; dark brown hair-er. Wink and male stares-er. Dumb.
Jen Jen. Jennifer the token fem fem. Jennifer Bloom. Jen was just chillin'; eyes like oceanography lectures; hypnotical textures. I wanna text her. Stop rhyming you fucking joke.
Who art thou, modest Jennifer? Rode a couple Stephanies that semester. Wrote a couple Marinas that September. But not a single response from dearest Jennifer. Penciled and penned her name and sent it to her. Purple ball-point ink dripping with nervous energy. Don't respond—just let me gaze into your pearly blanks. Then fucking reload those semi-autos and fire away.
She read my poem—which was more of an abstract assault on the English language. Our nimble heroine jettisoned the purple plea and departed the scene. Stephanie? Eh we'll see.
Jennifer. Jen. Jenniflower. Jennifleeting. Jen—can I call you Rachel?—can I call you later? I don't have your digits but based on your—Oh, OK, guess that's a no then.
Jenniflustered. Just let me into your gendered general direction. Roller skated to school, backpack full of antiquated textbooks debased with pink scribble. Saw your friend Katie, hugged her, then said: "Good luck on the test; its a toughie." Language modified because Katie is a good girl and it's probably not that difficult for her. You B+'d it with ease; botched a few of the open-enders chiefly due to time constraints. You are sixteen and beautiful and have no aspirations of going to an Ivy or an X-Tech. Jennifer.
Buy that book of poems I recommended you. Watch that Netflix miniseries or just ... pass the blunt.
