The little rainclouds are growing into a thunderstorm.
Right under the place we last fell apart
The ground is burning, nice and warm.
No one knows the lengths I’d go to dissolve you again.
No one knows the shame I carry around
In the ink of my pen.
But I’d rebuild silver cities if it meant I could be free.
I’d paint the sky navy blue if it meant
That I could finally sleep.
And my arms would lift mountains just to clear the dust
Which you brought into my view with pain,
Masked as a fiery lust.
Yet – I know well that your footprints cannot be erased.
No matter how hard I swing,
They keep showing up in a new place.
This shame might linger for too many eternities to count.
And even my spite might not be enough
To beat the next goddamn round.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 