My youth gets brushed under yet another rug,
It gets thrown into this muddy grave that I dug.
They take me for granted, they call me naïve.
They think I dream about them when I fall asleep.
But there are parts of me that rarely see the light,
And I keep them chained, keep them out of sight.
They think I am a bit too kind to walk away.
My demeanor lets them think I will sweetly obey.
Still, every once in a while, I gasp in sharp pain.
I remember how it feels to snap necks and be vain.
My mouth is a dagger made to cut your ego.
I am a cruel god slashing self-proclaimed heroes.
So, tell me – why do I suffocate on a Saturday?
You molded me for years, then stepped in the clay.
Do not let the pleasantries fool you for a second –
You should have known better,
And you should feel threatened.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 