Precious Air

Someday when I leave this place, I hope to be remembered as honest and kind through all the bullshit and blessings. I will miss the sun and her stars most, but not the moon. The dark night, backlit moon and I will meet again floating on waves of a different space and time carried by the winds of perpetual motion, emotion and love. To be well-loved even while selfish, childlike

Indian Red

Hate has no place in the home, on the mean streets, or the man-made war zones. Of this ugly 21st century that is so unkind. United as one, we are not. We are not even close in these chaotic, heartbreaking times of epic, earth shattering cosmic shifts and distorted evil proportions. Terrorists, murderers and violent, you are most assuredly unwelcome. The time has come to become one voice united against

A Bag is a Bag, or Not 

A Bag is a Bag, or Not When your fifteen-year-old knock off ‘Balenziaga’ bites the dust, you cry a little. (Canal Street, NYC score, I had two of them. One orange, and the green). I love, love, loved them. When the bag’s ‘leather’ literally starts peeling at the START of your fancy vacation, and your friends relentlessly make fun of you…what they didn’t understand is how loyal and practical that bag

Highfalutin Sequins & Glitter

I must get moving I suppose haunted by a past and future, overly cautious and wickedly sentimental. I must walk in the present decked out in sequins and glitter in honor of the brazen one. There is magic brewing in these parts and honest living in the routine. Small town life is fine, filtering the air with H2O, and hyperbaric clean, 100% pure, brain oxygen. Just when I think I

This Face

Image Jacqueline Cioffa © Chris Fanning Photography This Face If I only show you the photoshopped, concealed, makeup pretty me You’d never understand the underbelly The crunchy grit, rawness hidden beneath The really good stuff, the honest kind that matters This face is not the who, how, or where This face is not the who, how, where, or when This face is not the who, how, where, when or why

Shadow People

“Burn me with the brush and indifference; scatter my ashes to the wind under the prettiest summer’s eve and her blazing, pink sun.” – Jacqueline Cioffa “Shadow People” by Jackie Cioffa featured on Bleeding Ink via Feminine Collective http://www.femininecollective.com/shadow-people/

Carny Days

 Carny Days What difference do the mad genes make when everyone is running? The speed of my thoughts makes up for the snail pace of the body. I pray one will balance out the other. The monotony of the same old, boring tedious routine gives structure to the wandering head. The walkabout has come to a screeching halt; words escape me, unsure of the new pace. Diamonds dance and stars