Tag: abuse

Good Guys

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It is always about the choices that we make.

But their weak backs –

No, they can never break.

No one wants to hear that he was violent,

Life goes on swimmingly,

And bruised lips are kept silent.

If I hear one more lighthearted excuse,

I will scream like a burning siren:

“But I refused.”

The pain comes up as the anger grows deeper.

I heard them say it once,

“She wasn’t a keeper.”

How dare you say these cursed words aloud?

My life is a gallows hill,

And it is gathering a crowd.

Even good guys burn witches, it’s true,

Because their weak backs,

They are steppingstones for fools.

But it is always the choices that we make.

Why ask for permission

If you can just take?

-JW

Empty White Room

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Their slimy palms slide down your back like a threat,

One more uncomfortable laugh and they are all set.

They assume you will not give them any problems,

You will not speak up or dare to bother.

The power play is never a game you can triumph in –

The house always wins, love, the house always wins.

And I hear your pain, I see you snarl at strangers,

But the culprits will never pay if you put yourself in danger.

They will not get it because they see a leveled field,

The delusion tells them it is you who holds the shield.

“I am not making excuses, but you did not say “no”.”

Or even better:

“Who is this?” when they answer the phone.

And they assume you will tolerate what you are given

Because only god can make them sinners.

But I swear there is power in feeling hopeless,

There is more wisdom and strength in being faithless

Than in any of those who are stealing your power away.

You will see that day, you will reach that day.

I have met plenty of people who shoot to kill

Only to end up being bent to my will.

Let them assume the best, let them assume.

Watch as they lose their mind in an empty white room.

-JW

Exit Wounds

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I danced with your seven devils last night.

They broke my spirits, they showed me how to fight.

My fists were ready to take down my shame,

But you buried me in it, then buried your own blame.

I ran with your deepest fears last night.

They are a wicked crowd with rotten bodies to hide.

My lashes were ready to dry and evaporate.

You pushed me in harm’s way, you did not hesitate.

I fell with your palaces of lies last night.

They reopened my exit wounds and took a large bite.

My skin was ready to let me bleed out,

So, you broke my neck and left me in the drought.

-JW

The Red Line

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Not all my innocence is lost, I just hide it with fury.

You crossed a red line today,

And I guess now you will have to sue me,

No, I am not taking my anger off the front pages.

Let them read it too,

Let them see how harmful your rage is.

And do not call your bloodthirsty intentions “attraction”.

I will never tolerate it,

I will tear you into the smallest fractions.

Let me light the matches and start the forest fire,

Watch it consume your life

And rot you in the eyes of your admirers.

Not all my innocence is lost, I hide it with my youth.

You were wrong when you assumed

That I will not scream the truth.

-JW

The Show Mustn’t Go On

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I lit thirteen black candles to get you out of my four chambers

And I prayed to the gods and devils, even some saviors.

Every last belonging of yours I tossed out of the blurry window,

Every corner of my cell I cleaned, still –

You called me a bimbo.

Or was it my shattered ego throwing a tantrum once again?

I can’t compete with this, your venom is my ritualistic sin.

Four days I’ve been counting the seconds to our next row.

Baby, I’ll hit where it hurts but you’ll always go low.

Shows like this mustn’t go on, despite the audience chanting.

Whenever we crash again, they’ll call it a fabulous landing.

I’m over being type-cast as your next big step to freedom.

If you grow your demons for too long,

Someone needs to feed them.

It won’t be me, unfortunately, I’d rather run with my heathens.

The neon city might crash my bones but I’m not looking for Eden.

The next time you come down from the clouds pale, empty handed

Please keep in mind – it is still me you carved and forever branded.

You were never stranded.

-JW

Fine

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Picking up the pieces after I exploded with rage wasn’t the hardest part.

It was more difficult to promise I’ll love you till death do us part.

I wouldn’t promise my endless, undying devotion to anyone, rest assured,

But you bent my neck so sharply I couldn’t breathe, and I felt cured.

Sewing my severed pieces together from scratch wasn’t annoying.

Boys will be boys; and it happened to be me, entering in the midst of them toying.

I wouldn’t forgive the scars on my pale, cold skin, yet I would forgive you –

It just seems better when he’s the one who harms, and also the one you screw.

Stitching my freshly spilled brain together from the bathroom walls is fine.

How come he was so patient? I had one drink too many. Or maybe nine?

I wouldn’t be alive today if he didn’t give me that steady push with a fist.

As soon as I saw red in my hair I knew I’ve made it into the naughty list.

It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I’ll take the risk.

-JW

Out Of Touch

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The tenderness has evaporated and all I’ve got is rage.

I was dying by the mic but you took over the stage,

Not thinking twice. Isn’t it funny?

I do the work and the overtime but you get the money.

I travel to the scariest corners of my sanity,

Surprised of how calmly I treat your vanities.

Why do I have to suffer for a dollar while you keep yelling

That money doesn’t bring happiness – unless I’m buying what you’re selling?

The treatments aren’t making me better, they’re making me dizzy.

When I’m drowning faster in sinking sand, you’re rooting for the scene to get grisly.

Every death threat sings me your name like a symphony –

If you snap my neck, will it be my tyranny or bigotry

That made you pull the trigger? Sure, it will always be me that’s out of touch.

“No mercy for an inconvenient lady,” you said.

“Let’s take the volume up a notch.”

But there is still no tenderness left. Just wrecks.

No empathy for those who sharpen knives on other’s necks.

I was dying from your cuts but you took over the stage,

Not thinking twice. Isn’t it funny?

Animals live on pedestals while I’m stuck in a cage.

-JW

Written in Indigo

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You’re my ride or die, whether you leave or try. You’re my own.

I don’t really possess you but you can never leave when I groan.

Left a box of my belongings by the door the other day, without a note.

Put a rose on it the next day and a list of poems that you wrote

Thinking of how we’re making each other mad again, how I’m crazy

And you’re out of your mind. We only stopped fighting when we got lazy.

You’re the worst. You’re the devil. You’re everything I hate about this world,

Even a bit more, as you overexaggerate my words and make the truth look whirled.

I want to say “fine” when you’re leaving again but I can’t stop myself from saying –

Please stay. And you raise your voice again, I lose control. I bet the neighbors are praying.

***

I’m so glad this story only exists in my head.

I could’ve kissed you back then but I didn’t, I fled.

I knew if I touched your lips to cause a mayhem,

I would never be capable to function without them.

You’re the reason I’m dancing in the streets in my nightgown, drawing in blood

Messages to all the lovers that said I’m no good.

I’ve never felt like I’m no good with you, even when I’m sincere.

But I’ve also never seen a pair of eyes that I would kill to keep. Oh, dear.

I can’t promise I won’t kiss you tomorrow.

We’ll see if I dare or drown in my sorrow.

Hope it’s both. Our love story will be written in indigo.

Red. Yellow. Skin color. Then again – vertigo

From your fist. Where to go?

-JW

If I Would Have Fallen

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Another day spent in rose tinted blackout glasses, not seeing the stars.

Raspberry and lime kisses land on my neck, too bad no one’s noticing the scars.

My palms are trembling as neon sky lands over the city, so sweet and so sticky.

The marks on my shoulders are pulsating at sunset. They’re bruises, not hickeys.

Every breath I take rubs you up the wrong way – and you won’t stay neutral.

I’m slowly turning into you though, but I guess the experience is not mutual…

People I knew continue to talk like they enjoy sticking in my craw. Such amateurs.

When new dawn arrives, my conscience is on its knees. The rest is a blur. Or a slur.

With every word you speak I learn one new reason to step away from the car crash

But suddenly your grip feels too fond so I hold on, tie a bow around it and add to the stash

Of things that I should’ve burned to completion when I noticed the tenseness.

Yet – here I am, standing by your window at 3am, without any control, defenseless.

I wish it was different. That kisses didn’t hurt

And words didn’t line up to sound this absurd.

I wish I was angrier. That my bites were sharper,

So abrupt you’d never try me. You’d scarper.

-JW

Bruised Elbows And Lost Tempers

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Why do I have to write exhortatory poems about you every night?

How do you cut me to the whites of the bones and act as it is alright?

The craving inside is not quitting, it is only rising through floor, filled with rage.

We both know that as long as we care, we will not be able to turn the page.

Each night I walk for hours to ensure that I am not the broken one –

It was you that bought and loaded, and pointed to my head that lonely gun.

I am not sure how to make peace with my bruised elbows or lost tempers.

Tomorrow it will repeat – you will set it afire, you will not hesitate to attemper.

My saddest day was the one I learned people I love can be villains, too.

Falling in love with strangers was easy – it was you who woke up the madness of coup.

One thing you forgot in the midst of this war is how I lack apprehension.

I close my eyes not fearing your ill intentions

Covered as cheap loathing –

But it is not a sheep’s clothing.

More like a foreboding.

***

Love does not feel like exhilaration.

It is a senseless act of passion

Committed for your own defamation.

Exactly like high fashion.

-JW