The rusty iron rods feel like feathers on my chest.
Don’t worry, don’t you decompress,
Just try to do your best
As you’re dealing with your own god complex.
The acid is dripping down my sides in harmony.
It’s not about what you thought of me,
It’s about how you reigned judgement of those who were free
Because you live in fallacies.
I am not your queen, I am not a lady.
Burn the lines if they seem too hazy.
You’re afraid because you just cannot make me into a mirage
With a weak voice and hands that are shaky.
All you want is pedal to the metal.
You’ve only been someone’s first choice when they settled.
I get it, love, it must hurt to fall off the saddle,
So you channel your resentment into the corporate ladder.
And the knives feel gracious on my tongue.
Go and teach a lesson to the young,
Set an example on how to drown a voice yet unsung
As you’re desperately removing my gurgling lungs.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 