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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Still Waiting
Inexcusable inaction disrespects the honored tradition of unending societal enslavement. For a moment of meditative breathing brings utter devastation to the glorified and prosperous. Your hands were meant for so much more than the calluses they wear. Dreaming of our place beyond the stars, exhaustion roots us to the ground. Words are thrown to entice your individual wants, while actions are made to disrupt your undeniable needs. Judgement is passed upon the heads of those who decide their own consequences. Your hands were meant for so much more than the years they bear.
By Jake Trammell5 years ago in Poets
Tomorrow
Overtly intending to undermine the others while thinking they’re the opposition. Not knowing the difference between competition. Breaking grounds to bore through the cemented earth, underestimating the pure devastation your greed will bring to your house and home. The fires laid upon your hearth will spread to the righteous, melting their altruism and laying bare the wood of their inner turmoil. If only you would envision the world of tomorrow, and see that black gold is no where to be found. Take what you’ve learned from those who shed tears to quench your flames, and breathe the soot into your being. See how your exhausted soul begs to be soothed. How do we build a better tomorrow for the children of today when all the fruits of our labors bring death to the surrounding lands.
By Jake Trammell5 years ago in Poets
Not Exactly
Surely this is temporary, a bit of exaggerated exasperation. Intense increments of inexperience. Under the unbalanced behavior of one or another. Maybe a moment of unintended malicious relief, or a matter of prolonging the ungraspable closure that was meant for your hands. Don’t take for granted the pleasure of intimacy for it is fleeting faster than the undeniable breath in each lung. How far will you go to hide the discomfort that is so easily seen upon your every expression? Rampaging across the roses, when they demand to be admired. There is no calm amongst this storm. Indelible marks mar the skin that yearns to be kissed.
By Jake Trammell5 years ago in Poets
