Jenna

“Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.”
― John Masefield, King Cole

“So, maybe we’re the
generation of the selfie,
but we’re also the generation
that grew up in a tainted,
Photoshopped world
with every impossible beauty standard
shoved down our throat
through a tube
because eating has become
a guilty pleasure
and condemning beauty ideals
won’t go straight to our thighs.

And if, by chance,
we are able to destroy the
demons that you’ve planted
inside of us with your
constant advertisements and rules
that play behind our eyelids and
take root in our brains,
then let us take our fucking pictures
and capture that moment when
we felt beautiful because all this world
has taught us is that
our beauty is the greatest
measure of our worth.

Scoff at our phones all you like,
these delicate extensions of
our fingers, but know that
through this technology
that you couldn’t even
begin to understand,
we have smudged the entire
world with our fingerprints.
We are the generation of knowledge,
and we are learning more than
any that came before us.
So, frown at my typing fingers;
I am using them to grasp power
by the throat.

Try to invalidate us,
but we’ve heard our
parents talking about
the world’s crashing and burning
since we had sprung from the womb.
We know you’ve fucked up,
and we’re angry about it-
the kind of anger that
fuels knowledge,
that I feel in my veins every time
I read the news from my phone
before school,
that sticks in my throat like honey
in a debate;
the kind of anger that simmers,
that sharpens teeth into daggers,
that makes this generation more dangerous
than you could have ever imagined.

We are the generation of change,
and goddammit, we’re coming.”
― Emily Palermo

“What remains once the war is won?

Fame.
Songs.
A kingdom of corpses.
His name too heavy in my mouth.

What do we become in death?

Shadows.
Longing.
Regret,
regret,
regret.

What do we keep once we are ghosts?

The blood under my fingernails.
His crooked teeth.
Searching for happiness in the threads of his hands.
A love that burned alive.
A love that is still bursting in my hollow chest.
A love that was never enough.

What do you do when you’re alone in the darkness?

Wait for him,
I’ll wait forever if I must.

Were you ever able to name one hero who was happy?

No.”
― Emily Palermo He Is Half My Soul

“They’ve kept the truth
about Persephone a secret,
burying it deep below
Hercules’s murdered wife
and all of Zeus’s affairs.
It’s dangerous, you see,
a spark threatening to
ignite a long dead flame.

Power.

She loved her power,
the Queen of the Dead,
to forever reign
in the fires of hell.
She wore her crown
like a beacon;
a beautiful queen,
plotting against her king.
They never wanted you
to know the hunger of Persephone,
how she starved for something
other than pomegranates.

Control.

The primal thirst
that burns all women’s throats,
denied by eons of men.
Listen closely to the voice from hell, sweetheart.
“You are a queen;
don’t wait for a king.”
― Emily Palermo