I wrote this on June 22, 2014 and I sent it to a then boyfriend.
It mentions a girl I will talk more about on my next post in the form of an open letter.
The ex-boyfriend was trash and didn’t deserve this piece of me.

This life is a series of frequencies
and interconnections.

It is a reason I strive to be
kind and nice.

I am doing what is
right to all fellow beings-
even if they are considered
bad or even not worthy
of my kindness.

My father left me on a bright
July day.

I was sent to school on that day,
after telling him that I hated him.
Maybe that is why I don’t like the
year-round school schedule.

My father’s physical being and his life
as Jack Douglas ended that bright July day
and I wonder what happened
to the rest of him.

Maybe I will meet up with him again,
the gentle man who liked
Red Vines and Star Wars.

Maybe three future lives from now,
that’s when we will meet again.

I will want to apologize for all the sassy moments,
the meltdowns, and
for telling him that
I hated him
in the time
he needed love and comfort the most.

I do hope our souls meet
and that message
gets conveyed.

Even if it doesn’t, it will be nice
to feel his soft familiar presence.

I am a firm believer in first “vibes”
as in the first impression
one leaves on me is based on their energy.

As much as reason and logic is
required by you,
I cannot give you any for this.
If you call it a dumb way of judging
one, then you’re outta luck
because this same theory
applies to you and how I knew
you were the one.
You just were.
(Spoiler Alert: you were not the one, thank God.)

Some can call it a color, or a frequency.
I say both.

April 16th- I felt something about
a girl you told me about.
Her vibe changed and I did not like her.
Not because she was a Scorpio,
but her vibe was cold.

Her color scared me.

I met her and it didn’t change.
I met her and it didn’t
change.

Her vibe.
Her color.
Her being.

Reasons you do not like.
Reasons I try to change.

A part of me is very regretful as
I still feel the same vibe from this girl.

The other parts of me weep out because it seems like
I cannot even trust you.
But I do.

I trust you with every fiber.

You have every part of me and
you know this.

I would help you cut me open.
(That was toxic as hell, Past Jenna.)

Maybe I am the fool, but
I trust you with all my heart,
but this girl, this girl causes me distress and I cannot figure out why.

She radiates bad throughout my being
and
I know she’s insecure and trying
but it is inherit.

We do not mix on a spiritual level.
Our souls are long forsaken enemies,
and there is only so much fate I can fight.

The reason is jealousy,
but only with her.
I don’t know why quite yet.
Maybe it can change.
It must.

Life is stressful.
Know I am writing this and I am crying
Because this is powerful for me.

We are all connected.

The borders between
you and me may be obvious,
but the lines between
the homeless I chat with and me are not
as obvious.

I dream of
what Charlie Chaplin
said in “The Great Dictator.”

Universal brotherhood,
do not despair, the power will return.
As long as men die,
liberty will live on.

This is because we are indeed connected as one.

I give my body to this earth
and I will return.

All this will come back.

Perhaps not like karma,
or like a cycle,
but it is a sure thing that it will return.

I dream of a better life next time around.

My soul carries much weight
due to that bright July day.

I just hope that next time,
the little girl will not play alone in
her dirt pile- mumbling about
her fantasy world.

I hope she has others
to mumble along with her.

Or, even better, the little girl will have her dirt
pile aloneness, but as a playtime and
not an escape.

My imagination was great at a young age:
I reenacted villagers in Asia,
burned leaves as a cavemen,
flooded Ant towns, fell in love in Paris,
drove the Buick through the Midwest,
swam in every ocean,
traveled to far away islands, and
barraged with pirates.

I wonder if I have done all this.

That Jenna Caitlyn had a life as a:
-loyal samurai
-desperate neanderthal
-victim of an environmental tragedy
-distressed painter
-carefree traveler
-wandering explorer
-pirate wench

While typing this, it brings me back
to my beloved pile of dirt.

I am closing my eyes,
visiting a place that doesn’t
exist anymore.

Spoiled by death,
drugs,
vandalism,
the state,
tax neglect,
auction.

I hope
another being
can enjoy the adventures
of
1209 Norman.

I don’t know why
I write to you with these things.

I have no reason to give you.

Here it is.

Maybe it’s easier we don’t talk about these things.

xoxo,

Jenna