Washboard Abs Jacqueline Cioffa
I want to dance alone in the dark. I want to hear the underlying music through the deafening mundane silence that is everyday life. I want to make snow angels in a Speedo. I want to smile again without feeling forced. I am going to free myself from the limitations wrapped tightly around my neck. I’m going to discard the heavy and not give it a second thought. I’m going to dance on paper and move mountains with thoughts clear in black and white.
The limbo of my life will become a discarded thing of the past. There will be happy, chocolate chip minutes and inviting, familiar scents wafting through stale air.
It will be comfortable.
There will be easy chores, taking out the garbage, doing the jumble, raking fall from the yard.
I will bask in delight. I want to live simple. I want orange and red leaves and high school football and small town life. I want to erase the days lived in the hollow and free my mind and body from the trickery of a fast life. I am throwing out the Gucci shoes and Prada bags and the heavy burden and the in crowd.
I will wash away big city, lonely isolation and surround myself with real life. I will turn my back on the superficial and freeze all my assets. I will gladly hand over my stuff and lose pounds in an instant.
I am violently thrashing about. Gently, I am closing a door and cracking open a window. – THE RED BENCH, Jacqueline Cioffa
She and I were star stuff symbiotic, dear, precious friends, old lovers who finished each other’s sentences. – Jacqueline Cioffa
“Her salt mine seas pacified the storms dwelling harmonious in one body. We’d spend a decade exploring, feeling the heat of the sun, flinching in the biting winter freeze, experiencing the mesmerizing, transitory alive moments in color and traversing the vast corners of the earth, boldly as one.
We’d chase big dreams, and conquer cracked filled pavements. I was happy. I was almost always happy, and happier than I’d been before. I smiled tears of sadness, and cried tidal pool oceans of joy. I was a beautiful contained palate of emotion, no longer insane, paranoid, turned-out, hallucinating, running, or screaming mad. I was okay. I was fine. I was in love. I was more me with her, than without. I never, ever, ever wanted to say good-bye.
Like a jilted, jealous lover quietly, methodically, slowly over time and all at once, growing spiteful and angry, Lithium began poisoning my exploding cells destroying my insides. Belly swollen, eye sockets burning, jaws clenched, muscles pinched, bones ached, feverish and ill. I was tail spinning, spiraling and insane. Even the holy, pure sacred womanly parts ignited.
The element lithium burns vivid crimson red.
Lithium crimson red flames imploding, screaming and demanding the quickest exit strategy. How could she break my vulnerable, trembling shattered heart, and peace of mind?
Did she grow tired of me, or did I?” – Jacqueline Cioffa
Courtesy of Feminine Collective on Bleeding Ink with Jacqueline Cioffa
SUBLIME FRAMEABLE ARTWORK: By the Haiku Queen, Witticisms Master, and pensive, and poignant writer, Ms. Dori Owen aka Diary of an Arizona Girl with Feminine Collective
– @jacquelinecioffa on Instagram
***DISCLAIMER: I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT encouraging ANYONE to go off of their prescribed psychiatric medicine. This is my story, my journey and trust me it was hell. Please remember that while enjoying these creative words.
Harnessing the Madness is Proudly Featured under ‘Poets’ under The Lithium Chronicles
Harnessing the Madness
By Jacqueline Cioffa
Don’t worry Hush, little mama
Dry your acrid, bittersweet, woeful tears
Don’t you cry, pretty mama
Your darling, happy, freckle-face baby is struggling, fevered, and
Oh, okay, go on then
Go ahead and cry, little mama
Cry those real, big-old-salty tears
Enough to fill an ocean
Squash the fire under mountains of regret, and molten lava erupting
Don’t worry, hush lullaby mama
Your baby girl is a strong, solid swimmer
You taught her that
You and her, submersed
Her JOY full love of water
Bouncy, giggly, freedom submerged while cemented together hand in
She was fearless in your arms
Unafraid of stormy seas, tsunamis and heavenly floods
Little girl’s flapping her arms now, mama
Crazed, and kicking hard to swim to the top
Oh hush now, pretty mama,
don’t worry your fraught, exhausted mind or fret
Water trumps fire, and this girl
Your darling baby
Harnessing the madness
Submersed, safe and sound in the Marianas Trench
Her screaming, gurgling lungs breathe better
Go on now, mama, gather your salty tear filled buckets and buckets and buckets
Pour them right over her head
Fire burns out, smoldering wet
The melody is haunting and heartbeat sweet, familiar
And sigh so lovely, lovely, lovely
Your baby feels all the feels, smells in color and vibrates clickety-clack
Hush, now child, don’t you cry, too
Together in tandem
Your mama is there, she’s right there
Feet firmly rooted by rocks, wood and earth on solid ground
Harnessing the madness with her bleeding, thumping, overflowing
In two-time rhythm
Same heart, hers and yours
Keeping time together
She tosses a life jacket attached to an unbreakable umbilical cord, made
from solid oak, and knotty pine twine
The rope plays shadow games on the surface, as the water sways to
Under the prettiest, blinding white sunlight
Bubbles of air and H2O
Hush now, mama, keep pouring those frozen buckets of ice-cold-doubt
Over your girl’s scorching, sizzling brain on fire head
Hush mama, your little dolly is just a girl, and not a funny fish
She’s going to be A-OK, alright?
Hush mama, her head’s on fire, and lungs are all wet
But, she’s paddling hard and fast towards the surface
Flailing and searching for your firm grip, and steady resolve
Inside her shaky, trembling fingers
Oh, sweet heartbeat
The birds chip, and an indigo blue, clear sky, sunshine lights up the dark,
murky, clouded depths
Blue is the loveliest color
Pretty, strong, and powerful
Little mama is calling her name
Right there, oh, there she is
Mama’s shadow, bounce-back light and love reflection
Makes circle formations, bubble distress calls, and H2O air
Right above the surface,
Mama stands tall, barefoot on the green grass
Beside her baby girl, all along
Mama, your dolphin lung baby is gasping for air underwater, squashing the flames, and surrendering
Floating freely, buoyant, as the salt tides push her to the surface, and the scorching sun’s beautiful, intoxicating light feels warm and inviting
She sees her mama’s pretty face for the first time, smiling and kind
Bound forever by love, and heaven on earth
Little girl remembers, hope floats
Her one and only, mama’s fierce motherly love waits, prays and watches
Her all-grown-up girl
The gyspy, free-flying, Mustang wild spirit, good, mad woman
Grow roots, and quiet her wings
Thank you, dear mama
Yours, and only yours
Anchors the soul
The essence continues because you do. Harrison leaves the door open a crack. I seize the opportunity to revisit my whole, healthy self a bit longer, live in the mystic beach home I adore, dream eyes open. Hope is our greatest asset. To choose hope against the worst possible odds is the true measure of life. – Georgia Pine by Jacqueline Cioffa
The Body Beautiful
By Jacqueline Cioffa
As a former model and makeup artist who worked with Ashley Graham I can assure you she is not ‘fat,’ she is perfectly portioned. The average dress size for a woman in U.S. is 12 – 14. The modeling industry, fashion, and celebrity promote unhealthy and unrealistic skinny body standards for all women. This disturbs me on so many levels having witnessed firsthand the detriment to low self-esteem, eating disorders and unattainable weight issues has on young models that starved themselves to fit into a size zero.
Please don’t ever body shame anyone. I blame our culture hungry for gossip, entertainment television, the media, and fashion magazines for feeding the beast and creating a world where negativity and bullying of every kind are acceptable behavior. Social media bombards unrealistic images of skinny models, actresses and actors because Hollywood glam sells magazines and fuels the vicious, negative news cycle for girls, and boys who grow up with unrealistic and unhealthy body ideals.
As for Ms. Cheryl Tiegs I’m certain she is a victim of the media spins, twisting her comments into negative comments for a profit. Her words misconstrued, chewed up and spit out to make a dollar.
Don’t believe everything you read in a magazine or see on the tube I promise you the pictures have been trimmed, tucked and photoshopped.
Let’s celebrate and lift women up, be positive role models for young persons of every size.
Size should be measured by moral character, self-confidence, support, authenticity and kindness.
They are beautiful traits in women. Malala is beautiful, Ashley Graham is beautiful, Cheryl Tiegs is beautiful.
So is every non-famous, nameless woman who wakes at 5:00 AM, applies gloss, hops on a bus, goes to work, fights for a cause with a smile, and returns home to fix dinner. The every woman who tucks her kids if she chooses to have them, or perhaps decides to run for President.
To the woman who stands tall and puts her best, prettiest, healthiest face forward every day and wakes up to do it all over again, for me she is most beautiful.
I’m older and wiser today with a few more pounds on my frame, life experience and measure my weight by a new and more accurate scale.
I’m human. I’m a girl. I’m healthy, and I’m doing my best to fit in the skin I live in.
Same as you, and same as me.
Never Judge a Book
By Jacqueline Cioffa
Here’s the thing about writing.
When someone risks pencil to paper and is fortunate enough to convey an emotion about the unique way they view the world well that’s art, magic and creative expression.
I am not a brand.
God, I hate that word.
Although, I have been.
Modeling, acting and all the various exhausting pretend faces I’ve worn just to fit in.
I have gifted away most of my words and that is life as it should be. The day I become calculated, contrived, or worried about how many books I’ve sold, or how filthy rich I am, or if the comma is misplaced, or if you like and hate the person more than the page will be the day the words no longer belong to me.
Funny, I was a rich model once and that means very little if next to nothing today.
Except for a whole bunch of potential storytelling catalogued in the brain.
Write because you love it, you can’t breathe without it, and because the words don’t require a two-way mirror.
Only contemplation, beautiful sunshine redemption, and bounce back reflection.
Never, ever judge a book by its cover.
Crack the spine and see for yourself.
I am writing
For the love of possibility behind the broken glass.
The Paradox of Our Age and a Beatbox
By Jacqueline Cioffa
I’m not going to spin the crooked ways the world disgusts me, fueled by greed, and selfie look-at-me affliction. I’m not going to ask why the hell we’re celebrating, glorifying, mystifying, ridiculing, opinionating, posturizing, and Glam-O-Rizing Reality TV wannabe Celebrity with million dollar ‘99 problems but the bitch ain’t one’ bad behavior? I’m not going to rant and rave graphic, go on and on and on and on and on about fabricated circus ponies, farce bullshit, false niceties, lies and innuendo. Bad, bad PoliticO’s.
Rappin’ box beats…
Nope, nah, forget it man.
This bullshit, twisted, wake-up-people rant ain’t about greed, ain’t about you, ain’t about me.
Shit, Player, I’m a foul-mouthed-fool checking myself, too.
I’m gonna spin this prophetic, profound, and wax poetic…
To a true, old school melodic moment of gangsta’ rap radio wave silence.
We have bigger houses but smaller families;
more conveniences, but less time.
We have more degrees but less sense;
more knowledge but less judgment;
more experts, but more problems;
more medicines but less healthiness.
We’ve been all the way to the moon and back,
but have trouble in crossing the street to meet our new neighbor.
We built more computers to hold more copies than ever,
but have less real communication;
We have become long on quantity,
but short on quality.
These are times of fast foods but slow digestion;
Tall men but short characters;
Steep profits but shallow relationships.
It’s a time when there is much in the window but nothing in the room. —The 14th Dalai Lama