The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[sweepthefloor]

I'm not allowed to cry.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

I'm not allowed to cry.

Who sez?

 

[sweepthefloor]

It just seems that way.

 

[achingyearning]

It just seems that way.

If I don't love you baby,
grits ain't groceries,
eggs ain't poultry,
and Mona Lisa was a man.

 

[sweepthefloor]

You want to love me?

 

[achingyearning]

You want to love me?

And she's still a mystery to me
I thought I'd grow up gracefully
I'd understand my woman thoroughly
But the more I see (but the more I see)
The more I see there is to see, there is to see
And she's still a mystery to me (she's still a mystery to me)
She's still a mystery to me

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

I'm not allowed to cry.

Hey~ it's your party, so cry if you want to!

 

[sweepthefloor]

Hey~ it's your party, so cry if you want to!

It's my body and I will cry if I want to, cry if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to you.

 

[sweepthefloor]

And she's still a mystery to me
I thought I'd grow up gracefully
I'd understand my woman thoroughly
But the more I see (but the more I see)
The more I see there is to see, there is to see
And she's still a mystery to me (she's still a mystery to me)
She's still a mystery to me

Are you singing to me?

 

[achingyearning]

Are you singing to me?

Actually I am a good singer


I could send you songs I wrote

 

[sweepthefloor]

Actually I am a good singer


I could send you songs I wrote

Please do.

 

[achingyearning]

secrets

Please do.

You're extremely unique.

I hope you don't dream about charts or tangled wires....

 

[sweepthefloor]

We eat candy cigarettes and smoke smores by the fire fueled by our story. This is a summer party around the tin cans and the bottom of my feet are dirty.

 

[achingyearning]

We eat candy cigarettes and smoke smores by the fire fueled by our story. This is a summer party around the tin cans and the bottom of my feet are dirty.

and more flexible knees and less detritus

overly rapacious lovers

we are not sanguine

and I hope you get that pony

that is, if you promise to take good care of it

 

[sweepthefloor]

There is thunder on the mountain top and the sound of rain taps on the tin roof of my brain. Like the lover who almost stopped come easy but got angry, it came back to rally with a deep rumble and a fierceness only known to the sky.

And when it was over, everything was wet.

 

[achingyearning]

There is thunder on the mountain top and the sound of rain taps on the tin roof of my brain. Like the lover who almost stopped come easy but got angry, it came back to rally with a deep rumble and a fierceness only known to the sky.

And when it was over, everything was wet.

The taste of the wind formed across pleading waters
The sounds inside the wind surrogate din for life's symphony
Into your milieu
There's no such thing as a perfect lover

 

[sweepthefloor]

We can't be perfect but we can compensate to be within range.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Going up the mountain is slow like a relationship getting there. I put my flashers on. Sliding down in the rain is like the lover on my back that loses himself on the slope of my sex. I can’t brake that.

 

[achingyearning]

We can't be perfect but we can compensate to be within range.

because.... we are human.... and we need love

interpolating with regard to the norm
but whose perception shall we deem to be valid?

it doesn't matter
there are only people involved
slightly cracked
jaded
wary
hungry

 

[sweepthefloor]

The hands of 1,000 strong warm winds molested me, groping my body in every way possible, at once this was an assault on my sensitive sense. I wanted to fight but I couldn’t. The strong sun penetrated my back while I covered my head with a towel to try and ignore the nature raping my pink skin. I am good at hiding my face, and applying sun block.

I ran to the ocean when I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood bravely on the edge of my own madness where the water splashes anklets tugging, pulling gently. I would like to blame the moon but it’s high noon, and I can’t see my beloved friend. I ran in thigh deep and ran away as soon as he came with the frothy belt that brings little girls like me to their knees tumbling into the cracked shelled surf.

My back is strong for the beating so I got up and went deeper. They say you should never turn your back on the ocean, but I do it all the time. I’d rather take the back smack then turn around and get slapped in the face.

I jump, evade and swim but my strength is useless here, so I become resilient and rest.

There is no sense crying into the ocean. It doesn’t need my salty tears. It has its own.

 

[achingyearning]

cursed cursive lover with the obtuse eyes
salt spray stinging
but still he snickers
as you stumble, slanted

lotion won't help you now
radiated and repeated sun blast
scraping raping

your tears?
his currency

your sex
his passage

you scream, I scream, we all scream for....
the sake of screaming

 

[sweepthefloor]

That's funny. The Good Humor ice cream truck comes to the street. The man walks on the beach and rings a bell. I say: What's so good and funny about your ice cream Mr. Humor? *lick*

 

[sweepthefloor]

your tears?
his currency

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

We all scream for your eye scream.

 

[achingyearning]

That's funny. The Good Humor ice cream truck comes to the street. The man walks on the beach and rings a bell. I say: What's so good and funny about your ice cream Mr. Humor? *lick*

oh you sweet provocateur

I'm jonesing on your tongue map....

but now we've come to find that is a common misconception that different sections of the tongue are exclusively responsible for different basic tastes. Although widely taught in schools, this was scientifically disproven by later research; all taste sensations come from all regions of the tongue, although parts may be more sensitive to certain flavors

nonetheless, fuck the science and do what feels best