Rachel Jacobs

Rachel Jacobs

I'm an escapist with a chameleon heart.

I write morbid or psychological horror and heartfelt poetry.

I feel v deeply.

@phantasma.philosophy ~ Instagram for my poetry.

How does it work?
  • Rachel Jacobs
    Published 15 days ago
    That Pain in My Knee

    That Pain in My Knee

    I could sit this way forever. My knees bent into an angle of pain as they hugged my chest. I wrap my arms around them and hold them close. The melanin in my face absorbs the sun as it beats down on me. I am thankful for the ocean's mist that dabs onto my skin, cooling it from the sun. Staring at the waves is the only moment of stillness. I’ve lived here on the Mariana Island’s for 12 years now. I’ve seen so many women come and go, but I remain. I have no permission to be here ever, I am always to stay indoors, obey and work. The ego that lives inside of me, that fire that tried to bite, kick and kill those three men who brought me here, still exists. I never changed. I never fell in love with these men, the regulars that visit me or the traveling perverts who come to see us. When I close my eyes at night, I imagine San Diego again, what my older twin brothers look like now. I wonder if the Krispy Kreme donut shop is still around the corner from my house. At 10 years old, my mom got breast cancer and then I went missing. I dream that she is still alive, not burdened by cancer or worrying about me. She doesn’t need to worry about me because I am adaptable. I adapted to the world I grew up in and the world I know now. I always imagine my mother happy and healthy.
  • Rachel Jacobs
    Published 3 months ago
    The Groomer

    The Groomer

    I sat in biology, tapping my finger tips to the imaginary music I hear in my mind. My teachers mouth moved into shapes that I turned into new ideas. I imagined her as a pilgrim and then a safari huntress, she spoke to us, her clan, inspiring us to hunt, to live. *ring* The bell! I can leave. I forgot about my wild imaginings as I quickly paced down the hallway to the little theatre. My best friend Jay, was already there sitting with our teacher, Mr. Mathan.
  • Rachel Jacobs
    Published 3 months ago
    Ouija

    Ouija

    The words he shouted were not his. His body levitated in the air, head titled up to the dark sky as he screamed in Korean. The four of us standing below him, eyes full of tears, so confused.
  • Rachel Jacobs
    Published 4 months ago
    Cows

    Cows

    I awoke on a farm. I laid on a wooden floor inside a barn, looking toward two big, open doors that revealed light and fluffy green grass being grazed upon by the cows roaming the field. A light breeze passed through my face and something felt different. The way the air moved over my head and my face. I sat up and ran my fingers over my head and much to my dismay, felt short, buzzed hair. Where is my hair... I trembled and cried into my hands. This must be a dream.
  • Rachel Jacobs
    Published 5 months ago
    Marionette

    Marionette

    My whole life I’ve lived like this, hung by strings attached to my fingertips, arms, legs, toes, and head. During the day I hang freely, and swing with the gentle sea breezes that pass by. To my left and right are the other dolls, just like me. We are painted exquisitely, with smiles that stretch from ear to ear and sparkling eyes of all colors, mine is purple. Our synthetic hair is groomed to perfection and our gowns are made from the finest silkworms in Japan. I’m made of porcelain with black hair that flows down to my hips in tight curls with a silver crown that sits atop my head. My purple eyes are complemented with a blue eyeshadow that matches my princess dress. Next to me are clowns, princes, princesses, goddesses, and animals.
  • Rachel Jacobs
    Published 5 months ago
    Nails

    Nails

    I’m slipping back into a state of consciousness, I’m gripping onto reality. It feels like I’m spinning in a vortex of hyperreality, these colors are so vivid and lovely. Why does no one visit me? Why is my grave so empty? Why does no one visit my grave anymore? This deep sadness weighed on my mind as my eyes fluttered open. I lay there silent for a moment, and it feels as if the tears are welling up over this; why will no one come to visit me? It seems as if hours go by when suddenly I am awakened by the thought that I am living. I shoot up in my bed, peering at the soft sunlight shining in through my window. I’m staring at my fleshy hands now, how peach. Whose grave was I sad over? I can still see the dead grass and dirt with a grave marker, no flowers, no name, nothing. I dreamt of nothing, just of this sad memory stuck inside my mind. I’m thinking that maybe someone visited me in my sleep, someone used my humanness to remember theirs. But who? A voice from the past? Or just a simple no one? Aren’t we all just simple no ones though? I sat up out of bed, and started to change into my clothes. I rushed out of the house as I began walking to the cemetery close to my home. I’m hoping to find a resolution there. The sun shone brightly today, the world seemed so alive and happy, who wouldn’t want to live in a world like this?