Hope Tells You Things

Photo by Bruna Gabrielle Félix

Hope tells you that my young mind can be changed,

But you used to know me when I hid my rage.

These lines that you write sound like nothing happened,

Like I fell on your dagger, but it did not matter.

Some try to tell me that these grey storms will pass,

But I notice when the ceiling is made out of glass.

Anything would be better than your fake smiles.

Do you ever punch your gilded bathroom tiles?

You shattered me quickly and with high precision.

All I did was made you relive your poor decisions.

You know what they say about making your bed.

If you shoot the front runner, you will not get ahead.

Hope tells you things, but your conscience does not.

You crossed the red line, and you did not stop.

Go and find your closure anywhere but here,

Go and bury my ghost, I will not shed a tear.

-Jackie

When The Fire Goes Out

Photo by Tolga Aslantürk

We were putting out fires wherever we looked,

We saved the pages in this star-crossed book.

The headlines painted you as another paladin,

Then cursed me for acting like a mannequin.

We danced hand in hand on the steepest hill,

Absorbing the danger like a sweet pill.

Somebody called my boldness just a farce,

Then re-wrote your name on a rising star.

You know you deserve all the glory you get,

But we swore to fight them until our deaths.

Now you embrace all the polished covers

While they rip apart my friends and lovers.

Maybe this is for the best, maybe I failed,

Maybe my pain is chasing its own tail.

We were at the top, but you stepped higher.

They pulled us apart and put out my fire.

-Jackie

Violent, Violent Delights

Photo by Darya Sannikova

These secondhand lovers keep wasting my nights,

They keep spilling my lust, flying feelings like kites.

Your dark gaze grounds me, but only for a moment.

We both know you are not a worthy opponent.

The glitz and the glamour of passion revolts me.

Each new love I find quickly rots and turns moldy.

I wish I could soak up your brown eyes with mine,

Playing truth like a violin on your bare spine.

But we have played that game in some lonely nights.

My skin gets tired of your violent delights.

So, I fill every second with counterfeit lovers,

Dreaming one day they slay me,

Then kill each other.

-Jackie

Devil Complex

Photo by Диана Дунаева

My face gets bruised, but you don’t ever worry.

I’m the girl surviving until the end of the story.

I lose my shoes as the midnight train passes by,

But you don’t ever hear my wounded battle cry.

The thoughts in my head spin so fast I fall down.

There’s nobody worrying about me in this town.

I must wonder – are they going to be surprised?

Are they going to leave when I drop the disguise?

They must suspect that my exterior’s deceiving.

It’s been a decade since they’ve seen me bleeding.

My eyes turn red, but don’t you ever worry.

As they bury you alive, I will howl my faux “sorry”.

-Jackie

Suffocating On A Saturday

Photo by Victor Ramírez

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

Looking At Old Photos

Photo by Arkhod

She looks at me with this big, bruised ego behind her eyes.

She looks at me, but she does not know me just yet.

I stare, trying to see if this is a story where the hero dies.

I look closely, but she simply does not recognize me yet.

The twinkle in her gaze shakes nervously as she cackles.

I wish she could hear me, but she does not know me yet.

While she dances alone, they are putting her in shackles.

I will save her one day, but not right now, not yet.

She looks just like me, and her skirt sways just like mine.

She thinks she knows it all, but she cannot know me yet.

They will wash her thoughts, then stab her from behind.

She will blame herself, but she does not know rage yet.

-Jackie

Self-Portrait Of A Buried Woman

Photo by Tayla Walsh

They enshroud me in glimmer of lustful compliments,

Then bury me for leaning on my undeserved confidence.

I know they seek closure for the damage they caused,

But I am frozen in time, and my head is wrapped in gauze.

They seek friendships in graveyards, hoping I will awake.

The savior complex in their bones requests a second take.

I was not a spotless ruby, but this ending was too cruel.

My rotten flesh feeds on their tears like it is fuel.

Some say that is possible to forgive the worst betrayals.

Yet, I was the villainess in their tales and portrayals.

Let my body be consumed by the earth that once fed you,

And when the devil grins, please tell her I sent you.

-Jackie

11 Months

Photo by Artssy20

Bright blue eyes peek through the blinds,

But I am not supposed to notice.

Shriveled palms creep around my waist,

But I must ignore it, must keep my focus.

His wicked stare touches my scraped knees,

And I know he has crossed the line.

Whoever blinks first is the perpetrator,

Even if I committed no crime.

Money shoots in the air when he laughs.

Are we not supposed to notice?

His nails dig into my bare shoulders.

If I scream, will they call me bogus?

Bubbly liquids ensure I stay numb.

We are on the other side now.

He is waiting to crush me with his thumb,

And no one will say he is not allowed.

-Jackie

Their Tongues

Photo by Anastasia Latunova

I tuck all my nemeses behind my left ear,

Put their dimes in my pockets,

Hoping no one can hear.

I see the sun burning down those I hold dear.

The city streets whisper,

My old friends disappear.

They say I blow up fresh bridges every week,

And my excuses are endless,

But their reasoning – weak.

The papers print words that some snitches leak,

Calling for me to forfeit,

But I’m almost at the peak.

One day rude tongues will quit their places.

My flesh wounds will heal,

But I won’t forget faces.

My body might reach new homeostasis.

Your hate will dissolve too,

It won’t leave a trace.

-Jackie

No Need To Escape

Photo by Mario Wallner

I steer clear of the mirror,

I don’t want to know what they see.

Nothing good ever comes from my pride,

It’s my Achille’s heel.

Low whispers slide through the door,

But I squeeze my ears shut.

I would rather suffer in silence,

No need to escape this rut.

Heavy hands knock on the windows.

They want to set me free.

They’re going to learn the truth soon –

My beauty’s a hangman’s tree.

-Jackie