Jake Trammell
Bio
I write things I could never speak aloud. Usually in the form of poetry or short stories. One day I’d like to write a novel.
Stories (27)
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I cannot believe I still love you
Our songs play on repeat, whether I want them to or not is up for debate. I listen to each word, every note, basking in the memories of us singing them together. Or you squeezing my hand just a bit tighter. And I sit with a smile, molded to the shape of the days of you.
By Jake Trammell2 years ago in Poets
Untidy Weavings
“I dream of you, more often than I’d like to admit. Every night if I could put a number to it. Under the cloth of darkness, within my cocoon of blankets that once cradled your skin; I lay awake thinking of everything under the sun. Praying, hoping for one night of untidy weavings. A semblance of idiocy that can be laughed about in the morning. Yet every night I dream of you. The longing that lingers on my lips, hunger upon my finger tips. A stampede of a thousand sparrows beating my chest. An eternity of honey sweetening my ears.
By Jake Trammell2 years ago in Poets
Growth
“I am stuck in perpetuity. I am growing, not unlike a seed stuck between damp towels. My roots have no place to sink into, to take hold of the soils beneath; and yet I am growing. Preparing for new life, for a tomorrow where I stand tall and bare the fruits of my labors. Beautiful to the eye, sweet to the tongue, delightful to be near. Yet, I’ve nowhere to go. Nowhere to grow into, other than the damp towels flowing over me or into myself. An unending period of growth, forever stuck in a search for a foothold for my roots to stretch thoroughly. That place of comfort, that place of security, that place of warmth, that place called home. And there i’d find myself. For I cannot be found in a continuous cycle of growing, as I do not know if it is a beneficial growth. And home is where I am found, with you growing together and nipping the bad buds before they sprout. Instead I am stuck between these damp towels, surely waiting for the mold to overtake me.”
By Jake Trammell3 years ago in Poets
What I Wish Was Said
“It’s just like that, ya know? You think you know what you were here to do but then, just like that; all of it turns to smoke. All you’ve ever known, all you’ve ever done, all the steps you’ve taken and all the breaths you choked on. Turned to dust, blown away by the very air you’ve tried to keep in. You should be angry, you should be sad, you should be happy, you should be tired. You should be in all the moments you inhabit, but this mask you parade around in does no one any good. Your brilliance belittles you, your exasperation is proof of that. You pity yourself but don't take steps to better yourself. You stand a bit straighter and say ‘hey i am fixed.’. You hold your head higher and think you’ve got it all figured out. But it’s just like that, ya know? The world keeps turning, the masses keep walking and you stand where you stood all your life. At the crossroads, wondering where everyone has gone. Sorry friend, they’ve moved on. Dig in deep, and beg for absolution and all you’ll find is isolation. Step towards tomorrow, try a little harder, say sorry when you fuck up and mean it. Keep your back straight, keep your head high, ask for forgiveness and be okay with their answer. Don’t stand in place for longer than you need, rest when necessary and take in the view; enjoy the moment. Be there in the moment. Just don’t dwell in it. Your breath will renew there as it does anywhere else. You’ll be better tomorrow than you were today. Just don’t dwell in it, kid. Forgive and forget, don’t ever resent, let go of grudges, and move on from those who drag you down. Try again, if that’s what you want and take it as far as it’ll go. Just don’t dwell on the mistakes you’ve made along the way. You’re life can’t sort itself out, you’re not that lucky. You’re lucky enough to be right here, right now and honestly… that’s all you need.
By Jake Trammell3 years ago in Poets
Weight
The weight of all my sins have bore down upon me, building upon my back and I’ve been bending. For months, for years, I have bent. Springing back came so easy, I thought I was fine. I swore I was fine. I convinced myself I was fine. I promised I was fine. I was not fine.
By Jake Trammell3 years ago in Poets
The Scout
“It is a dismally cold evening, I’m afraid my body isn’t really quite up to the task of standing in the snow.” remarks a weary man under a bundle of leathers. Two men sit around a small fire as snow falls in clumps. The older man propped himself against a tree, the leather bundled man as close to the fire as possible.
By Jake Trammell4 years ago in Fiction
Illuminated
How hard is it to see from the other side? To put your feet in another’s shoes, to feel what they’ve felt? You’ve experienced so much through your years, not unlike theirs. Your heart has felt their pain, their love, their laughter, their sorrow. Your soul has danced the steps beautifully, graciously.
By Jake Trammell4 years ago in Poets
Conman
A simple sigh supplies enough to the room that one could decipher the vibe. Different people, linear thoughts. Conman tell me what to do. Snake oil sales only sells the soul. Pitter-patter upon the floor, tip-toe down the hall. Come again, conman, tell me what to do.
By Jake Trammell4 years ago in Poets
