These stories about us keep popping up on my screens,
And I do not want to believe that they might be real.
Not again, not anymore.
Not me crying on the floor.
You could not find a way out, so you shot right through,
Leaving a wound in my head that is black and blue…
And for what?
Just to spite me?
Do not say that you cannot despise me.
When I was happy, you disguised me
Like being content is an indicator of some disease.
You made a pact with your mouth to never give me peace.
The most painful loves must come in threes
Because I do not want to hear from you,
Do not want to reinvent myself anew.
These stories about us keep popping up on my screens,
And I know I will make it out as long as I scream.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 