Poetry & Art

The Things We Learn: Poetry Series

What We Hold 

Girl, you’ve been selling your soul, 

but have lost sight of the worth.  


A dime bag 

is not a rose offered 

by trembling hands. 

A quick bump 

is not poetry scribbled over your skin 

by nervous fingertips. 

A shot of smack 

is not a vow of devotion 

whispered by love-chapped lips. 


You’ve forgotten all the things 

you were holding out for. 

And now, 

you have nothing left to hold.  



What Happens to Girls 

“Boys will be boys.” 


what happens to the girls? 


We’re left behind – 

tangled in dirty sheets and half 

of our clothes, 

or lying in the park with three-quarters  

of our clothes shredded, 

or in the morgue without  

any clothes at all.  


We’re left to pick up pieces 

that should have never been broken 

in the first place.  

We’re left to our dirty reflections 

try as we might 

to avoid them.  


We’re left to our insides, 

now tainted and foreign.  

We’re left to the sharp scent 

of our ever-present fear.  


Boys will be boys. 

And girls? 

Girls will be hurt.   


This is Love 

This is the painful plucking up 

of my well-tended 

(and high-walled) garden. 

This is the burning of those 

most precious petals I planted 

with such care.  

This is the sewing of seeds 

in soil tainted with the ashes 

of what was. 


This is love, 

even when it feels 

anything but lovely. 



River Stones 

Once, I was caught 

in your current.  

But, the tides have changed. 

Now I am the raging river, 

and you  

are just the boulders  

I break over. 


I Don’t Need Saving 

You may see me as a damsel 

in distress 

and you may be right. 

But as far as saving goes… 

These two hands  

dug this hole 


these two hands will 

Drag me out. 


The Phoenix 

Although you’ve torn her up and 

burned the pieces, 

she will always be a phoenix –  

born to emerge from the ashes.  



Too Much Will Never Be Enough 

I’ve thrown caution to the wind,

and watched my inhibitions float

away on the breeze.


No longer do I second (and third)

guess myself. Instead, I throw all my chips

on the table

every single time.

I refuse to “dial it back”

because I am too much.


I hope to always be too much.

I hope to always be

much more

than anyone ever expected.



Author: JessicaRose Hutchins
Email:  jrhutchins90@gmail.com
Author Bio: Just your average 27 year old, trying to cure my wanderlust by moving from city to city, and capturing my experiences in verse. I find inspiration in all things, from seemingly insubstantial encounters to my most painful moments. When I began writing, it was to purge myself of all the thoughts and feelings I could never speak aloud; and now, I write to reach others who have felt silenced by their fear (of the world, of themselves, of failure, etc.). Writing has liberated me from that fear, and I hope that sharing my poetry can help others to liberate themselves.
Link to social media or website:  Instagram @lady_jrose


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