I Forgot This

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on January 16, 2018 by jezzywolfe


On the crest of the hill

I planted myself upright and reached the sky

Summoning my inner poplar

My stalwart backbone of fiber and ring

My bastard bastion of resilience.


And each revolution took me farther

Each evolution stole me higher

Until I was so far from you

That the stars loomed closer by

Than the tips of my fingers.


We could excuse these spansions

As a byproduct of our distinction

That inevitable growth spurt

Hurdling us into welcomed orbit

Around our own personalized dwarfs.


Grifting through the nexus of new nebulae

I discovered the dust of your satellite

Light years gone past before

The debris left behind

Only vaguely reminiscent of a star I recalled.




I thought I was the stardust ejected into space

‘Till I looked down at my feet

Still firmly planted in the hillside

A poplar bent over from root rot …

The consequence of forgetting to fly.


JW ©2018




Where What Never Was

Posted in General, Uncategorized with tags , , on January 8, 2018 by jezzywolfe



For all the lavish indulgence,

The emptied places where the air was scored by laughter,

Silence extinguishing the flames that shivered beautiful reflections across bare walls,

Everything behind in a shroud of gray.

I wish I thought to record it all,

The smiles loud enough to be heard in the dark,

Before the temperatures dropped and the ice fell,

Before they all took their coats, and their leave.

I’ve packed it away now, wrapped in gentle cocoons,

Every ear marked note and scrambled reminder of how alive living can be

Of how we all fill each space with our own unique precision

And leave rents in the tapestry as our mementos, not repairable.

…Never replaceable.

This glorious mourning, the cold baptism after the fire,

Erases every trace of gold that was left behind,

And slows the blood when we stop to remember,

How beautiful it once was.


JW ©2018


Facing the Long, Dark Ahead

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 2, 2018 by jezzywolfe

“First we forgot where we planted those bulbs last year,
Then we forgot that we’d planted at all,
Then we forgot what plants are altogether,
And I blamed you for my freezing and forgetting and
The nights were long and cold and scary,
Can we live through February?”

– Dar Williams, February


On the first day of the new year, I stood in the living room of my empty house, unsure of what to do. So, I just stood.

The downstairs of my home is almost impossible to heat in the winter, and with the below freezing temperatures outside, I felt no warmer than if I stood in a walk-in. Even in my heavy robe, I was chilled completely through. My eyes, which sprang a serious leak a few hours earlier, still managed to sting. I thought about turning on lights. On plugging in the holiday decorations I’ve been reluctant to pack away. I considered filling the empty with sweet music from my turntable.

But I stood in the growing dark, in the chilled dusk. I suffocated in quiet.

We tend to embark on January 1st like we’ve stepped foot of foreign shores. But nothing has changed. That crashing reality catches up to some sooner than others. For myself, the eternal fatalist, I see no reason to feel differently today. The nightmares of 2017 are still with us. The dulcet lure of the holiday season is done, and tomorrow, everyone will proceed to their lives exactly as before.

For me, my lack of life will sit on my chest and remind me that I’m still the sinking ship. I’ve spent months trying to figure out where I need to focus my direction, but I floundered in the same place.

It’s my own fault.

I need too much. The reassurance of worth. The dependability of safety nets. Encouragement, compassion, comraderie, companionship… basically, I don’t want to feel alone. I don’t want to be invisible. It has been an unbearable smother.

The weather is so cold already, but the real stretch of winter is still ahead of me. January and February are brutal, and usually a struggle to endure. The cold isn’t just outside. I know how I would usually tackle the days ahead. But each year has proven to be a terminal disappointment. The highs are fewer, and farther between. The lows are so constant, they’ve become level ground.

I don’t know what this means for the year ahead. I sincerely want …more. I don’t want to be this cold, so often. I don’t want to need anything, from anyone. Because ultimately, even the best intentioned will drop you, sooner or later. People let you down. They let you go. The friends you have might only be the residue of moments you didn’t realize already ended.

And when you realize you’re really alone, you’ll find yourself facing February.

I hope I can find green beneath this gray…

I hope this spring finds you all brighter, and ready to grow. I hope you find everything it is you are looking for. You have my blessing. You have my love.

Go on.







With Little Left To Say

Posted in Uncategorized on September 26, 2017 by jezzywolfe

I might look back in the morning and feel foolish. Or I might look back in anger. I will know the answer to that in a few hours, I suppose.

I went to deactivate my Facebook account tonight, several times. I stopped myself the first time because I wasn’t sure what would be involved if I chose to reactivate. I stopped myself the second time, because I had notifications, and my nosiness won out. But the third time, I was ready to pull that plug. Until I reached the bottom of the page that indicated that my pages would lose publication since I was the sole admin.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to do that. Pull the plug on them. I couldn’t find any information that detailed exactly how permanent deactivation is to a page. While I have found it hard to gather likes for my author page (which is ironic, because it’s not hard to find friends on Facebook), my ferret page continues to grow, without any attention from me at all. I don’t want to take that page down. So I cancelled deactivation. For the moment, at least.

Writing, by the way? Not a cakewalk. I know, on the outset, it seems like it would be easy. I don’t think I’ve met too many people who didn’t fancy themselves some kind of writer. But the fantasy and the reality are two very different things.

Being a writer isn’t particularly intriguing. It’s not especially romantic. Writers don’t spend all their time sitting outside quaint little coffee shops with their moleskin, sipping  their cafe au laut. They might be slumped on their couch, or laying in bed. Not in beautiful silk jammies, sipping earl grey. But likely in a t-shirt and shorts. They might be days overdue for a shower. Bent over a crumb covered laptop. And almost always stressed over a looming deadline, or waiting for a publisher to crush their dreams and spirits.

Because most of writing is rejection. If you meet a writer who isn’t struggling with rejection, then they’re likely self published. And that carries its own form of rejections. No one escapes with their pride intact.

I spend so much time on Facebook. Largely so I have a place to market myself when I do manage to achieve some modest success. But in the meantime, it’s a place rife with turmoil. I’m not the kind of gal who can sit on her hands, though I really should try to do so more often. Because having an opinion usually means upsetting people who were assuming you were someone else entirely.

And that’s perfectly fine. UNLESS your number one priority was to market yourself.

Facebook can be a sinking weight, in that case.

Few people on Facebook really know who I am, anyway.  I wouldn’t be losing too many actual friends in the process of deactivation. Would it help me as a writer? Who knows?

But, at this point, I don’t think it would hurt any more than it already has, so…



Reaching For Centaurus

Posted in Uncategorized on August 1, 2017 by jezzywolfe


Isn’t that mesmerizing? The Great Rift of the Milky Way. Mysterious, complicated, and frankly, quite terrifying. I could imagine standing on a hilltop, staring into the black of the night sky, at that deep cavern of infinity, and getting sucked into it. Hurtling through space because I stood in the one spot on earth I could fall off of.

But these days, I feel very much cemented to the ground. A good foot deep, even. An overdose of reality can go a long way in extinguishing one’s ability to fly, much less soar. I can’t even compare myself to a caged bird. Cage doors still open. Clipped wings grow back.

I knew at the year’s start that I would face a major change in 2017. I was stubborn with the belief that I’d figure out my new path quickly, and get to it. But it didn’t happen that way. I still don’t know what that path is, or how to find it. Hell, I’m not sure I’m even using the right map.

I’m standing still, staring at the sky.

The thing is, my sky? It doesn’t look like that. On any given night, you’re lucky to see any stars. An artificial fluorescence destroys the cosmic vista. That solitary persistent beacon still manages to scream its presence past the yellow wash of the city, but that aside? Cobalt black. Lightly salted.

If I want to see the dark river, I need to move. I can’t stagnate here. Spinning circles in the same spot will only drive me deeper. Further away from my goals.

For months, I’ve reached for books, and couldn’t lose myself. I’ve sat to write, and stared at a blank screen, until the throbbing behind my eyes won out. Even looking at pictures of the Milky Way failed to spark my imagination. One of the most uplifting images I can fathom…and I’m just lifeless.


People speak often of muses, and I was always reluctant to do so. To me, it was an excuse when the words didn’t come. Blame it on the muse. Even now, in this drought, I still can’t bring myself to blame an inventive device for my malfunction.

This is all on me.

I don’t know if my identity was so tied into my work, I lost myself when I had to figure out who I was without it. I have no goals at the moment. No destination. The pause in my personal growth is so pregnant, its carrying octuplets.

The ideas are still trapped in my head. The laundry list of things I want to do, it’s still there, always nagging me. But I don’t know where to start, anymore. It’s not a writer’s block. It’s more like a death row sentence.

I need a jump. A recharge. Perhaps a launch off a rocketship. Maybe, then, I can remember her. It’s been too long since I’ve felt like me.

I’m really starting to miss her.

If you happen to find her, can you please send her home?





A Sober Look at a Sobering Horizon. 

Posted in Freeze Tag, General, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 1, 2017 by jezzywolfe

I didn’t drunk blog for the new year. I could have. Maybe I should have. There was a bounty of beverages, after all. img_3735-1

But, after year upon year of suck, turmoil, and heartbreak, just maybe I need a different routine.

Am I saying it’s my fault we’ve had such a bad year? I don’t know. Depends on how superstitious you are. No, I’ve never eaten the correct foods, or made resolutions, or toasted at the stroke of midnight, or tickled a wallaby’s left armpit. So maybe the bad is on me.

Or maybe that’s just how the cards fell.

It was a hard political season. We are many who are apprehensive at the future of our society. Frustrated by what we perceive as a breakdown of ethics and morality…largely under the very false flag of returning to some kind of ‘God fearing’ nation. A nation that is greedy and tight-fisted and polluted with hate and ignorance. And people seem to think that’s godly? Um, no. Hell no. Fuck off with that noise. Please, oh please call me a liberal. Because if that’s what conservative means, I want to be NOTHING like you.

So, in light of this new chance at another orbit, I’ve decided to start it right. I ate a proper meal. I decided not to blog buzzed…heck, I’m a dork anyway, the alcohol doesn’t change that. And I am making resolutions. Not ‘actual’ resolutions, because we all know the flop that follows those. These are choices. Choices are not lofty goals we hope we can reach, but the shift of mindset that allows them to be realities.

My first choice is to be strong. We are all here together. I throw the word ‘love’ around loosely, but I am sincere. I love the people in my life. And I choose to be stronger for them, in the hope that my strength will give them encouragement. With that strength needs to be courage. We have a fight ahead of us, and we can no longer cower or bury our heads. You are all sisters and brothers to me, regardless of your race or ethnicity or religion, and it is my responsibility to stand by you when they try to tear us down. This is not a safety pin. This is my arms. This is my heart. And every one of you are safe with me.

My second choice is to be industrious. This year will likely bring about career changes, and I’m scared about what that means. But I have to move forward, for the sake of my family, my fuzzy babies, and my peace of mind. This applies to my aspirations as a writer, as well. I’ve accomplished some milestones recently. It’s time to follow them through.

My third choice is to be disciplined. I’ve fallen off track with my self care. It’s time to rectify that. I’m happier and clear headed when I’m physically active. I need to find that part of me again, and dig in. It will also allow me to remove clutter. There is so much clutter around me. So much useless material I don’t need. It overwhelmed and paralyzed me. And it’s time to make it history.

My fourth choice is to be present. Life comes and goes rather abruptly, as we have all witnessed this past year. You get one life, and one chance to carve it out. Daydreams are fun, but they’re fruitless. They keep me back from all that I could accomplish. It’s time to appreciate what’s in front of me now, as I have it. My family, my adoring ferrets, my irreplaceable friends. I don’t want to waste the moments we have here.

My fifth choice is to be optimistic. Because I’m not. I’m terrified of the unknown, and apprehensive to the point that I sabotage myself. No longer do I want to miss opportunities. No longer do I want to start my days worried about what can go wrong. When you live that way, the things that go right are barely a glimmer mired in your dustbin. I will not live in trepidation or nihilism any longer.

Who cares what is on the horizon? Lesser people interfered, and now we all face the dubious consequences.  But I am here. You are here. We are standing side by side on the same cliff. We face the same outstretch of sea. You know what’s beautiful about that?

Every. Single. Sunrise.

I am spending this year looking forward to every one that I get to spend with you.

Be kind. Be safe. Be brave. I got you.


The Face I’m Stuck With, Unapologetically.

Posted in General with tags , , , , , on May 18, 2016 by jezzywolfe

I’ve become one of those women who posts a LOT of selfies on my Facebook. Sure, I refrain from ‘ducking it up’, but still, I cringe when I think of the impression I’m making on my audience. I’d like to think I have sound rationale behind my blatant social media narcissism. Doesn’t everybody?

Up until a couple years ago, I did not post current pictures of myself. If anyone tried to take a picture of me…friends, family, you name it…I protested. Loudly. Usually with threats of bodily harm. I was absolutely terrified. I was afraid I’d have to see me as they saw me. And that what they saw no longer resembled who I used to be. Who I still see in my mind when I study my reflection. 

My weight changed. I’d gotten older. The features I used to think might be considered attractive, disappeared behind the face of a middle-aged, heavy set, completely unimpressive woman. When I went anywhere, I realized I’d become fairly invisible amidst the crowds. No one sought me out. No one noticed anymore. 

I disappeared.

Focusing on writing allowed me to forget that, sooner or later, I’d emerge from my cocoon, only to discover that I stopped paying attention to my appearance. And while that sounds perfectly acceptable, (and for most, it IS perfectly acceptable), for me, it was a heartbreaking disappointment. But before you brand me completely superficial, hear me out.

My experience in middle school was a continuous nightmare lived out over the course of two years. Pure torture. Puberty didn’t just hit- it beat me to a pulp. Imagine an entire school ripping into you day after day. Calling you cruel names. Whispering behind your back. Thrusting you into the center of all their jokes. You were THE school reject. It sounds so petty now. But after so much time spent humiliated and betrayed time and again, I entered high school completely terrified. I was crippled by insecurity. 

All I wanted was to be liked. To have friends. To not be ‘Pizza Face’ for the next four years of my education. I wanted as much distance from the girl that everyone hated as I could get. So I hid. I hid behind a curtain of heavy hair. I hid behind a desperately applied mask of makeup ANYTIME I left my house. That meant at least an hour every morning just piling that shit on. It wasn’t that I was trying to look “pretty”. It wasn’t that I enjoyed the feel of all that gunk seeping into my pores. Or the expense of carefully budgeting my money so I wouldn’t run out of makeup. As you can imagine, that would’ve been a true crisis for me.

But I just wanted to look normal. You know, normal as in ‘unexceptional, but still not freakishly plagued by bad skin’. I should have been grateful for big blue eyes, and naturally straight teeth. But I couldn’t get past my skin. And I didn’t think anyone would accept me for what I was. 

Flawed. Human. 

“So, what’s with all the stupid selfies, Jezzy?”

Even as an adult, I still don’t have perfect skin. And now, just to make it that much more fun, I have crows feet, laugh lines, those creases between my eyebrows from squinting in the sunlight. I look older. I’ll admit, I may not look quite my age, but I definitely look closer to my age than I used to. And while that shouldn’t matter, and maturity should have graced me a certian amount of self assurance, I am still that terrified woman who looks at her image and only sees the signs of time. I don’t see past the wrinkles and gray hair. I can’t see past the scars left by so many years of chronic skin troubles.

I warn people all the time, I am so far from perfect. I constantly complain about being ugly. Most times, I am told that I’m not ugly. That I should take them at their word that I’m a reasonably attractive individual. I want to be able to see that in myself. But I’m regretting too many things that are beyond my control.

I regret the loss of youth. Even though we all lose that, regardless of what we do.

I regret the loss of physical awareness. I allowed my weight to escape me, and now finding that smaller me is a serious struggle.

I regret, perhaps most of all, that I never learned to appreciate the qualities I did possess before I woke one day to realize they were long gone. And that, had I realized how fleeting it all was, I could’ve been comfortable in my own skin. I could’ve been that girl who was confident. 

Imagine how successful I could have been, if I didn’t constantly see myself as a requisite failure.

This is me today. This photo is not filtered. I wear makeup, yes, but I no longer need a mask of it. And maybe I’m no Olivia Wilde or Scarlett Johansson, but I’m not grotesque. I take the selfies to learn to accept who I am, and who I am no longer. I post the selfies to show people that I am willing to put myself out there. I’m willing to be more than just a name on a screen. I am willing to let you see that while I’m not perfect, I am real. 

And I am not a duck.