Staying safe in between the busy railroads,
Running trains brushing off painted antidotes.
The trees lean on my clavicle, cracking it in,
And feeling good seems to be the original sin.
Leaves shaking my ribcage with seven winds,
Heart chambers made out of empty cans and tins.
Roots graying out but I’m standing my ground.
Seeing the three lights approaching
Kicks my recklessness, so new-found.
-JW
“Can you tell me where it hurts and point me to the nearest exit?”
“Resilience is overrated in the promise land of Jokers who flex it
And your bruises are due already, pay up or leave the city.”
“Why bother leading the path if you could just look pretty?”
…
“Stand up and straighten your shoulders, baby, don’t be moody,
You’re not the next Marilyn in a black and white movie.”
“What’s up with the lipstick, don’t you want to go brighter?”
“I’m down for the fright but I’m not a real fighter.”
…
“Put a smile on that face, don’t you dare to make a scene!”
”You can only afford to be either sexy or perfectly lean.”
“What’s up with the jumpers, mate, are you finally expecting?”
“Please don’t drink and drive while you’re also texting.”
I hope you don’t find me writing down your innuendos vexing.
(Stop playing god, your moral’s perplexing.)
-JW
Today feels different from the rest, you and I both sense the pressure.
These thoughts have never strangled me, I barely grasp the rugged texture.
The newscasters are casting spells, the words – not making any sense.
We hold the ground through unfair rains, we hide it from the violence.
We heed the facts so frantically, we hail them for our innocence.
No empathy fired from the other side though,
Silence building like a picket fence.
I see you through the white and gold, the metal gates keep clanking back.
The less you hear the rawest truths, the more you highlight what we lack.
What is the answer to your prayers? What is your plan for standing down?!
Let’s hope our chants aren’t distracting, please don’t be bothered while some drown.
…But there’s no shame in being proud for doubting wrongly taken crowns.
Don’t smile when burning the dictionary pages
To turn the word “voice” strictly into a noun.
-JW
Boys on television recreating circus acts from afterlife.
Dancing on technicolor dreams, reflecting futures so bright…
I’m on the other side, vinyl and denim bruising my knees.
He says: “Baby, breathe through it, you’ll live as you please.”
The grass is greener in the shows though and I cannot stop
Imagining that I’m the cursed one, making every episode flop.
They praise bad luck as if it’s fortunate you cannot sleep
And you have to hurt another night, sinking more than a neck deep.
Somedays I’ve lost the remote, the pictures don’t pop up.
Whenever I find it, the times have changed, my spine drops.
Is this a horror show or maybe a well-timed afternoon trick?
If not… The boys on the TV are making me gravely sick.
-JW
Nothing makes my days calmer than the absence of you.
And for some reason I didn’t have the power to let you go –
On my own, without someone pulling the trigger for me.
Only blank bullets rained on you so it didn’t hurt. Sorry.
But the taste of freedom is feeding my senses decadently.
I want to take in the moments as if they’re the last to see.
Maybe I’m mean but you burned me blue for your pleasure
So let me keep the memory of you leaving as a treasure.
-JW
The perfect balance does not exist on a faulty planet
And destiny keeps playing drums on polished granite.
The rhythm section is not coming along as planned.
It sometimes scares me – here we stand
Just to end up as few grains of sand.
I try to amplify the echoes but they all fall flat on the ground.
Plastic crates, even metal cages do not resonate the sound.
The lurking chords are getting wider with nowhere to go
So I talk in my sleep while it snows.
At least my nightmares have something to show.
-JW
Pulling the scabs resurfaced on my brain, burning and drowning them,
Pouring on alkaline but it’s missing, dripping down, making my ego numb.
Cutting the old battle scars open to look for some fruitless revelations
But it appears I’m fresh out of clues, and these scabs are my damnation.
Squeezing my neck tighter to stop the air from leaving my powerless bones.
It doesn’t seem to help. Voices are attacking like gargoyles, raising tone.
Deep down I know that waiting it out must do the trick but am I ready?
I’ve forgotten how to take the fire exit when the building doesn’t look steady.
-JW
I’m willing to take the risk and sneak into the vault again.
You asked me to bring another shadow so I’m giving up the oxygen,
Putting on the rose armor, tying my laces, picking out rebellious thorns,
Wearing the faux leather helmet and imagining it has three horns.
I’m scared for my life to take the journey, to rip out another page,
To bring it back for others to read, then burn…
As if manuscripts really aged.
You know better than that, no unholy texts needed to rip me apart
But sometimes in order to receive your hits, I must work incredibly smart.
So I’m tightening the screws in my jaw, preparing the camouflage –
This time I have confidence that even the darkest caves won’t dare to sabotage.
No matter how many times I promise I won’t dig up the raising heart,
I’m always willing to sneak down one more time…
As if painful sacrifice really lived in this art.
-JW
Not missing you hurts more than holding onto your arm for dear life.
That was the part I least expected. Did you?
Did it cut like a hollow knife?
Don’t be fooled, I’m not looking for answers in lonely poetry rituals tonight.
I’m simply grasping the little ironies of how instead of leaving it all alone
I put up a fight.
The calm I feel now – wouldn’t sell if for 30 pieces of silver, I think Judas lied.
Or maybe he did it to embrace the peace afterwards,
And the offer of coins simply aligned?
But I’m not angry anymore – so it’s impossible to hang around the grief,
It’s even difficult to recall how rage fumed out of my nostrils
Hence I’m asking you to keep the goodbyes brief.
Not missing you is like taking a shower and rediscovering my own skin underneath –
Again, after all the slaps and bruising, and dragging my name through the mud
I’m finally smiling with my teeth.
Your time is up, old friend, please take the last empty seat.
-JW
Being at ease is not easy when the mind is buzzing louder than the latest news.
It’s like living with a python, fearing constriction, then you find a bite and a bruise.
Has it been venomous all along? Was I running the wrong way for years?
Should I just feed it with the last of my pride and some one night volunteers?
No matter how much I nourish the beast, it comes back hungrier; I get paranoid.
Why is it making me go bankrupt, does it not know – nothing will fill the void?
Truth be told – nothing fills me up either so maybe she’s a worthy enemy after all?
God was reciting Corinthians but I was fortunate enough to miss that disrupted call.
Yes, you could say I’m lacking faith, playing with fiery positions keeps me at bay –
But don’t you be offended, at the end of the day I order this chaos and I pay.
And please avoid being gracious about my struggles to pay a rent for this brain…
With the corner of my eye I see shop windows reflecting the shadows of Cain.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 