Jess Gatsby

tell me a story



Ah.  Yes.

The expression I wish to sigh, but then I will never.

Love and…

I can’t find the right explanation for the feeling. Oh.


Well when I see you, the look on your face tells me the same thing.

The look on your face,

your eyes,


tell me sir, do you think that you hold the answer or that I do? For I am waiting





Oh, how i want…

the words

I love


To be tattooed

Across my chest, so

That maybe you will look

At them and know I

Mean you.

-Jess Gatsby

My first to last kiss.


I remember the first time we kissed. You were younger and I was too, but it was a mistake and I left you the next day.

I remember the time we didn’t kiss and you reminded me about it years later and I regretted not taking my chance.

I remember the first time we kissed. You were my crush for a year and I was shaking like crazy and your lips were really soft. Even now my face flushed thinking about you. And I am not sorry for that, but I am sorry for the things I put you through.

I remember kissing you for spin the bottle, but I don’t remember the kiss.

I don’t remember the first time we kissed, but I remember falling asleep on your shoulder, the day where what I thought was hate turned to something good. I do remember the last time we kissed though. I remember running off to hide, pretending it was nothing. I think you will be in my heart forever. I remember I thought I would marry you one day, oh, and then get divorced of course.

I remember a lot of our kisses, and how they were comfortable but nothing more. I remember your hugs and your laugh and your hands and the way you played piano for me. I remember hurting you more than I have ever hurt anyone before and that is my biggest regret, the thing I would go back and change if I could because you were such a good friend to me.

I remember trying to kiss you on the cheek and then you turned your head and that was the most awkward thing that has ever happened to me.

I remember kissing you and hugging you, but not where we started or where we ended.

I remember the first time we kissed, I thought I was hot shit. You were so cool and a big guy and I was a no one that you noticed. When did you first see me? I know it was before you let on.

I remember the first and last time we kissed. We made out for an hour in my bed. It was pretty cool.

I remember the first time we kissed. You were scared and I thought that was funny because I am not a nice person sometimes. I think we would have lasted longer if you acted your age. I think we would have lasted longer if I was kinder. I love that we are still friends.

I remember our first kiss like it happened a million times. I remember all the kisses after, I remember the hugs, the hand holding, the loving. I remember the butterflies in my stomach when I knew I would see you. I remember when you asked me to marry you, and how scared you looked and how you already knew I would say yes. I remember the day you almost left me, and all the days after. I remember all the nights we spent together, and all the ones we were forced to spend apart. I remember the first time you said I love you, and I remember the first time you meant it. I remember the first time I said I love you, and I remember meaning that more than I have ever meant anything before. I remember last weekend and how you are fed up with your job. I remember more about you than I even remember about myself. I remember these things as glitter of my life, and when I remember them my eyes sparkle. I remember the last time you kissed me was this morning as I lay in bed and you left to work. As I am writing this, I can’t wait for your return so I can kiss you again.

-Jess Gatsby

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On the exotic coasts of my mind I find myself swimming through the waves of thoughts of someday.

I dream of being a famous artist, a famous poet, a famous….

but all after I am dead, obviously. I couldn’t handle fame in my fragile state. I come back to the shore in this thought, back to something anchoring after someday.

I walk back to the mountains in my thoughts, in this palace in my mind. There are so many places to go in this small world, but it is endless in the vast expanse of thought that inhabits my head. I see you there sometimes. It is strange, because you aren’t there yet, but….


-Jess Gatsby

If I could write this a million times…

There is something about rage.

About knowing.

About feeling all that anger bubble up inside you.

Yes, bubble. It bubbles up like they say, it’s true.

One beat after the other, filling on top of each other until it bursts from your skin, like an explosion of hate.

And what is hate. It is when you heart tightens because that one person that can make you so angry you feel it- the rage.

It’s like love but instead of happiness you feel despair.

Your heart feels like it is a tiny animal burrowing itself deeper into your chest.

Ah. and there is only the person that you love more than anything that can make you feel this way.

The one person that can make you want to kill them because they act that way and you can’t make them see reason. The person that you can argue with until the end. Or maybe it’s me.

I was done with being yelled at, spoken over, lied to, misused, mistreated …

because what?

You know better. You know it all, you know everything. I am not angry anymore, but I still feel it when I think of you. The pounding inside my head. The feeling of being lost inside myself, not knowing what to do.

Wanting to compete.

I have never wanted that.

I never feel this much.

It is like a world of new senses opened up to me, because before I was made of stone. I didn’t feel the other’s, memories of non-feeling are all I have. I only hate about three people. Is that a large number? A small one? I think it might seem closer to three million with the rage, but I know that hating that many people can’t be good for your physical health

because they dig under your skin and behind your eyes to irritate the life from your breath

I guess at some point in life you break the surface of what you can take and all you are left to do is experience the world washing over you in waves of events, feelings, and ….

I know there is something about rage, about life, about….

About knowing?

-Jess Gatsby


If I could write this a million times… and make it make sense, I would.


Thank you guys for reading my ravings. I have been having a hell of a time at it.



in the End.


the end of

time everything that

we have done, or did not

do, will not matter. The words

that we said will be echos in the flames

that consume the Universe, because what

started in the Big Bang will end in fire. The joy

and collected sadness of the masses will turn to

dust and we will dance among the stars with our

naked souls who have forgotten life. The time

we spent here together, the time that was

carved into our brains in the form of

memories, will be lost to the abyss

that we now call time but in the

future, will call the




held onto you

with this thought, that in

the end we will all turn to one-

since there will be nothing but flames

and we will be freed from reality. I see how

that may sound sad, but in your eyes I see this

end, and it helps me move on. All

we can do is live and then die-

but we come together

again, I am


When you

told me that I was

the Light and you were the

Dark, I did not believe you because

how could someone so beautiful be darkness when

in my soul I feel all the sadness of the world? Well maybe I

couldn’t see you clearly, but now that I talk destruction

it all makes sense to me. As we part, like the

Universe expands, I see us coming

back together in the


-Jess Gatsby

Inktober #15




I am.

I feel things

now, expanding

and moving forward, I

am growing, my fingers reaching

out toward something.

Reaching to the

Light, for I am



-Jess Gatsby

Inktober #8

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I’m a ghost


I’m a ghost.

Of course I know I

am a ghost. I know a lot of

things, but I am also a bit


I don’t know why I

am here, but I walk the

halls and I know

I am dead.

I don’t

know how

I died, but I did and

here I am walking the halls of this house.

-Jess Gatsby

Inktober #5


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Mr. Vally Man, Sir.

il_570xN.355757716_3j82Tinges dark and fruitful

fallen on sullen eyes

sunken into deep orchards

fiery, lively, dangerous courses

they see with no remorse

the world is black and white

but they see shades of purple

and blue over you and the past.

They see long days and hateful ways

and portions of merry men dancing on graves.

They see wonders of reds and yellows,

dreadful happy fellows, murdering mournful raves.

Hurt, burrowing and tight, we learned at the

end of eyelashes and combs, running leaves

off the many trees that gave us hope to flee-

he ran for miles the night, he ran and jumped and cried,

he did all he could he tried,

to save them before he died.

-Jess Gatsby


Originally Here

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