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.
Take a Picture, or Not By Jacqueline Cioffa This face. This face has been scrunched and smothered by new new talc scented infant kisses This face has been covered in mud, dirt, blood, open-wounded, stitched, patched and put back together This face has been brave, kind and stubborn pout five-year-old defiant This face has been bullied and attacked by mean girl high school drama and self-important syndrome This face has
Looking Glass and The Windowpane By Jacqueline Cioffa Let’s face it; there’s no fooling. The sagging skin, the wrinkled face, the ridiculous forty something woman in short skirts and bottled-up Botox. The gravitational pull and the eventual flight back home were booked in advance. You already hold the winning ticket. I recognize the faces in the street, the fear, the familiar grimace and disgust at the sideways glance in the
Waiting on Oprah I close my eyes and can almost see the perfect fairytale life I envisioned in my wildest dreams. Dear Fantasy (Oprah), “I feel that I am a very fortunate person …” I was fifteen. Fifteen, gawky, wickedly uncomfortable in my so called ‘model frame.’ Somehow fifteen was the perfect age to concoct wild fantasy adventures and the fastest way out of a stifled, small town. There was