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Jenny Dillon Poem
I am the ghost of my past life.
I feel hollow, empty, incomplete,
No one can hear me speak.
I jumped
From a rooftop in budding May,
A beautiful time of year.
I jumped,
Then I changed my mind.
Nothing hurts as much
As seeing the lives
I could have been a part of
Playing out before my eyes.
I jumped
From a glass tower
Shimmering in the summer’s sun.
I jumped
And then I changed my mind.
I wish I was still alive
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2018
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Jenny Dillon Poem
I move to the melody that floods my soul
I dance to the beat of my heart
In the moment, I’m not here anymore
But lost in the work of art.
The chords infect the root of my veins
And I feel the most like me.
My body bleeds out each drop of pain,
Finally know the sensation of being free.
My head has gone,
Floating in a faraway galaxy,
Its stardust in my eyes.
I move to the melody that floods my soul
I dance to the beat of my heart
In the moment, I’m there, but not really
And I’m lost in creating art.
My skin tingles with the bitterness of the music’s tears
I am utterly done in my relationship with fear.
In the moment,
I just move, I just groove
I dance to the beat of my heart.
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2018
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Jenny Dillon Poem
If you try to tell me that I’m just being a drama queen, the silent screams that suffocate my thoughts might just escape from my mouth. It wouldn’t matter anyway though, right? You’d just ignore my shouts. I mean, I’m not a man, so I’m not even important enough to be seen as a threat and even if I’m just barely clawing at my sanity, I’m still not important enough to be deserving of your help.
Please, enlighten me on how we women have all the power, how our superficial society believes that it can win us over with a shower of fake compliments, how you need a women to help your company grow because her beauty can flirt with each and every guy but she doesn’t have the need to know. She has the ability to buy you more customers with just a single look. After all, that’s what we’re here for. What else could we possibly have to offer?
It baffles me why you somehow consider yourself better than her.
You’ve never walked in these shoes. You live on the other side of the line, and these are my shoes so don’t you tell me how to deal with my blues and don’t you dare say something which which happens every single day doesn’t exist anymore.
Can’t I at least just have that? After all, it is a women’s world.
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2018
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Jenny Dillon Poem
A cold stone is comforting to touch,
It looks just perfect when you see it at first
But, I mean, anything can look beautiful
From the right angle.
12/11/17
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2017
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Jenny Dillon Poem
You might be starting off slow,
But don't be afraid to let yourself grow.
Be your own superstar,
Be proud of yourself for getting this far.
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2017
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Jenny Dillon Poem
Dear society,
You have to stop creating
These images of people
To which they must conform.
You have to stop making
People think that in
Everyday life, they must perform.
The way that people look,
The colour of their skin
Or the colour of their hair,
The way they hold themselves up
Or the clothes that people wear,
Should not affect the way you treat them
Or the privileges that they are given.
Dear Society,
Not everyone is the same
Not everyone from one specific group
of people is to blame.
Look past your first impression
Or your automatic connection
Stop turning to assumption
And start looking at discussion.
Construction
Progress and Production
Build on the introduction.
Don’t judge a person before you’ve
Even started talking.
You can’t tell what direction they’re
Going in before they’ve started walking.
18/09/17
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2017
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Jenny Dillon Poem
I’ve come across the phrase
“If a tree falls when there’s no one there to hear it does it make a sound?”
Even if the trunk thuds to the ground, the echoes travel around to surround the remaining trees far into the woods.
Is it really any good?
Was there any point at all if there wasn’t anyone there to see its fall?
But if this is what makes sense in your head, then realistically, the same could be said about people.
Maybe people just wither away without cause to be missed.
If a person is born and lives their life as they wish, but does nothing to get remembered, have we really made them exist?
If there were only a few people who kept their memories alive till the day they died, their existence didn’t really survive for too long.
Perhaps there was never anywhere for them to truly belong.
So if you never do anything that catches a few strange looks or may end up in the history books, then you’ll soon be gone from the family’s narration in the next few generations, just another lost soul, one more forgotten face who never managed to find their place in this world.
Find somebody who will keep you at the top of their minds, who will get in a few stories about you sometimes, whether they be a new creation, a strange fascination, some kind words or your own eccentric spin on life, strive to be remembered by those that you loved.
Your friends,
Your family,
Your kin.
Die knowing that you always fought for what you believed in.
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2017
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Jenny Dillon Poem
Apparently, we’re living in a women’s world. Yes, we’re way better off than we were fifty years ago, but that doesn’t mean that sexism is just gone. The people who believe that won’t even listen to me when I try to tell them that they’re wrong. Feminism means equality, not that women are better than men.
What I really don’t understand is how they can’t see the invisible line in the middle of the room. The girls stand on one side and the boys on the other.
When a girl speaks to the male teacher, he cuts her off before she can finish or automatically assumes that she’s just not right. When she tries to put up a fight and prove her point, he’s not even invested in the conversation. He’s still half listening to the recapitulation of the last rugby game on the other side of that line as if the girl just doesn’t deserve the same amount of attention or he just thinks that her problems aren’t important enough. After all, he’s got other more manly stuff to be worried about. She just has to wait her turn.
But she’s already waited her turn. She waited for sixty minutes in the last P.E class. She waited an hour but she still didn’t get a single pass. Nobody gave her the ball because girls can’t catch. It doesn’t seem like that much, it’s only an hour after all, but it’s an hour of her life thrown out the door and it makes her start thinking that little bit more.
If this is how things are at the age of sixteen what will happen when she starts trying to follow her dreams? Will they be crushed by an over-imposing fist looking for something on which to cling to its male dominance, reaching for the last shred of its so-called masculinity? Will they crumble to the ground in a pile of ashes and dust? Will the space in her head she has set aside for her passions and beliefs start to rust with the slicing words made by an iron knife that cut her confidence down to the bone? After all, it is known that a man deserves more due to his “lucky” genetics.
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2018
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Jenny Dillon Poem
A single drop escapes
A single drop made from
Water, lysozymes and glucose,
But it's so much more than just that.
I miss you
and I want you
and I love you an unbearable amount;
but I'm far too shy to say so.
and just like that,
I can no longer contain myself
And the tears begin to spill.
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2018
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Jenny Dillon Poem
You talk with condensing tones
Crushing down on shaken bones.
You whisper secrets in my ears
That you say I had no right to hear
Your claws dig deeper year by year.
Copyright © Jenny Dillon | Year Posted 2018
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