Jade Gonzalez 2015

Poem:     "Little Creations"

Story:     "My Angel"

Poem:     "A Fragile State of Mind"

Poem:     "Book Burning"

Twitter Pieces

After "Diving Into the Wreck"

Little Creations


Inky margins and mindless scrawls      

blend from one world to the next.

Scribbles, crosses, shapes, and blotches

move around, entities erased and X’ed out


Refrigerator masterpieces colored bright,

little girl rainbows and high flying planes.

All evolving into details and steady hands.

Each line of pencil serendipity in motion.


Forgo the carbon copies and mass production.

I have one better, mortal effort and emotion.

Cherish the human forging, impulse made.

Painted worlds all thoughts and memories.


Torn papers and violent erasing

inky margins and mindless scrawls.





My Angel


     I wake up with early evening in the air, the heavy and humid smell of the dumpsters behind me. I feel suffocated by the buildings standing over me. Sitting up, a pounding through my head almost makes me lay back down, and the nausea drives me to my knees. I’m surrounded by an alley. This one is nowhere I’ve ever been; I frequent similar ones though when I search for my fix. The same places every night. Sometimes it’s the wiry Asian man who threatens to cut off my ear if I’m short on cash; other times it’s the giant burly bouncer that sells, but doesn’t say more than two words.


     Last night was different, though. I got dumped by the girl of my dreams. Angela was the light in my darkness. She was the sun in my solar system, and I gravitated around her. She was perfect, in every way. When she laughed her golden ringlets bounced as they spilled down her shoulders like a waterfall. She always seemed to glow from the flowy sundresses that she wore, matched with rose painted fingernails.


     She spoke softly, gesturing and rationalizing with the same delicate fingers that now moved with malice. She can’t justify two years in five minutes. I unhinged. Words were screamed, mostly from my end. I stepped towards her until I could feel her hot breath on my chest, and her frightened tears staining my shirt. I held tightly to my sides, because I was certain I was going to fall apart if I let go. No thought could go through my head except liar. It echoed bouncing back and forth progressively louder and louder until it was just one white noise, no syllables. We fought for hours. Accepting defeat I slumped to the carpet shielding my face from the sunlight. She left leaving the ring in an envelope for when I calmed down.


     Carpet scratched at my face until it was raw, I laid there for what felt like hours feeling the world crash down around me. Self preservation soon kicked in and I made jerky motions, half crawling, half dragging myself towards the coffee table. Destroying was relief for me. Crisp paper tearing beneath my fingers, gripping the ring tighter than the jaws of life. I was certain she’d come back, but when she does, she isn't getting the ring.


     How I got to that pawn shop unscathed, I’ll never know. Coordination was the least of my thoughts, so I shuffled there. That combination of my sunken eyes and pale scratched skin made me look more dead than alive. I was an emotional wreck, and the man at the counter could see it. He let me sell the ring anyways, though. He probably got it real cheap; there was no haggling over the price. Eight crisp bills were placed in my hand. I’d never laid eyes on $800 before. Staring, I waited for the money to disappear, but it didn’t. Not yet, at least.


     The not-so-scenic route was the place to be. Grimy alleys were the highlight of a tour I was determined to take. I snorted, smoked, ate, and injected things all for the hopes of forgetting Angela and all my other worries. The impossible was visible and it was amazing. I saw leprechauns and centaurs and ran from monsters. I lounged in fountains and under slides and watched inanimate objects move and the stars sing. It was the time of my life until I saw the body.


     He was an old man. Grimy and hairy with oversized shirts piled over one another on his body. Needles lay scattered, his sleeve still pulled up. Track marks dot his arm like deadly little freckles oozing green. Infection sat still in his veins. Looking closer, he wasn’t that old; mid-thirties at most. I felt bile rise in my throat. I pushed it back down, gulping air. He was Angela’s brother; the one who introduced me to her. He was a party animal several years ago when I knew him. I guess time wasn’t easy on him. Fingernails bit into my palms until small trickles of blood ran down my arm. I had to tell Angela. So I did what all shaken creatures do and ran. I sprinted towards Angela’s because she needed to know.


     I arrived at her house and started banging on her door. My fists were violent, like crashing waves during a storm. She never opened the door. I saw her peek hesitantly through the curtains and there was no more of her. Screaming her name until my voice went shrill from the entire time from when I saw her until the flashing red and blue lights carried me away. After the police station they dumped me on the sidewalk, and I woke up with a restraining order and a possession charge. All of this because of a ring and a girl who looked like an angel.






A Fragile State Of Mind


Lost with no direction,

a fragile state of mind.

I don’t know who I am,

only who I’ll never be.


It’s not quite a mystery.

I don’t know what to see.

Understanding people

is way too hard for me.


Investigate my life;

see what’s on the inside.

I don’t understand it.

Figure out the pieces.


I pretend all is well.

When in reality,

I am scared to get close

and I hate being alone.


This isn’t where I belong.

I’m not sure what feels like home.

Home is where the heart is,

but my heart is all alone.


Inside my head is chaos,

white noise, and confusing.

Lost with no direction,

a fragile state of mind.






Book Burning


I walked through the field

littered with debris.

Not soda cans or candy wrappers,

but scorched paper.

The church got its way.

Words and ideas stolen,

Innocent freedoms ripped

from the hands of those

who dared to let

their minds escape.


Cinderella and Frodo,

both burned as one of the same.

Flames burned my cheeks while

salty tears stung my eyes.

The sky hung low.

Thick with the smoke of spirits dying.

Nobody spoke. They couldn’t find the words,

but I found them, lying there, begging for mercy.


Flames roared high

jumping and spitting embers

at the gathering crowds.

The madness was intoxicating

and soon, even the most level headed

emptied their life libraries to see the flames grow higher.

Drunken brawls were played out along the edges,

some losers never got up.


The people were misguided.

I don’t blame them.

It was ignorance that fueled the fire,

not paper. Criminals were being born

and people were dying.

So they blamed the literature;

the only thing keeping the fragile balance.

Primal instinct was to blame.

It overruled sanity and logic.