Lying on the floor between pages filled with pen scratches,
Trying to find one as blank as my stare, one that matches
My vision of a perfect day – not touched by an unwelcomed gaze.
But I know you are watching. If the story of my life was a contest
You would get the first place.
Walking through allies during tasteless springs, buried in pollen.
The weather is crisp, yet my feet feel heavy and lungs are swollen
To the size of an iron maiden. It is pressing down on my chest.
A heavy sensation hits – deleting myself from the narrative is
The only way to get rest.
Standing still in the middle of an always running city mob,
Checking my sanity, looking for signs that others also get robbed
Of time and dignity – while you peek away with your grueling precision.
I even wonder whether these stares only live inside of my head…
What a joyless derision.
Running up the stairwell, haunted by the words from the worst of humanity.
Gravity is drying my tears but it does not silence my profanities
As I curse every single stranger that said – my story is not a safe place to exist.
They can look all they want, browse and lurk as they please, but I promise –
At the end of the day, you will get what you do not desist.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 