i always believe the truth
in the wrong moments
mentally giving credit
where it isn’t due
pre-applauding greatness
only to have it yield mediocrity
a momentary gain of security
a lifetime of confusion
hanging on by a thread

Originally published September 20, 2018 on I Write Her. Reposted with revisions.

Jaya Avendel


I pluck hearts from the sky
Count pennies amassed in fortune
On the moss cold
Under my concrete touch

When I read of Shakespeare
I see the strings in Romeo and Juliet and
I pull them.

Into Silence

I enter the bathroom and
Close the door

Steam from the bath
I indoctrinated with lavender
At noon
Tickles my ankles

I scream
Curl my voice around the trembling tile
With the cold steel taps
Dissolve like Epsom salts in water.

No one comes
No one is home.


She lingers between light and dark
Her eyes never open wide enough to
Reveal their true color
If she wakes
It is in the night
Where no one can see.


Everything is something else
In another form
Love is cruelty to someone else
Brutally pink; torn.
My dance is faulty
In the eyes of the soldier
Also inside me.


The shadows behind
The moon envelop me like |
The gentle touch of
A dying spring flower or
The gentler touch of starlight.


Jaya Avendel is a micro-poetess and word witch from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia passionate about life where it intersects with writing and the dreamscapes lost in between. With writing published at Green Ink Poetry, Free Verse Revolution, and Visual Verse, among others, she writes and dreams at www.ninchronicles.com. Jaya was featured on The Short of It in 2020 and her work was published in the anthology – The Sound of Brilliance.


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I always believe the truth in the wrong moments.

Mentally giving credit where it isn’t due.

Pre-applauding greatness, only to have it yield mediocrity.

A momentary gain of security, a lifetime of confusion.

Hanging on by a thread.