Tag: author

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

Pure Satire

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All my writing sounds like satire since you made my words miserable,

The sentences carry giant rocks uphill.

It’s ironic how holding my silence feels almost biblical.

And you haven’t thought about my perspective once since that day.

You change locks like your objectives,

Knowing I chose to swallow my screams and stay.

As long as you pay, I have to keep up the great illusion of respect.

Your delusions feel like a swirling quicksand,

But I must stay afloat, even when wrecked.

The bigger people in my life swore it’s nothing to worry about.

If one more mouth whispers “boys will be boys”,

I will drop dead in this helpless drought.

Each symbol I type laughs at my naivety, knowing you’ve won.

Your warm skin follows me down the rabbit holes,

Forcing me to face all you’ve done.

Nothing I can do will balance out the damage you leave behind.

My words are making me choke these days,

And it is funny how it hasn’t crossed your mind.

-JW

Your Chance To Be The Martyr

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I hope my happiness and all the success I have gathered

Drips into your eyeballs like battery acid,

And you feel twice as smothered,

Even thrice as scared as I was when you put your hands on me.

You told me you liked my eyes,

And honestly, you might have been a little too drunk to notice it,

The burning hate in them, scanning through your petty lies.

Love, I am not a novice.

Take your novocaine and tell your worries to the rain,

They will echo like a gospel dedicated to your pain

Which you so conveniently mask under suede suits –

They give you the power to be rude,

Like nobody’s opinion even matters.

So, I hope it stings when you realize

That this draft has long been finalized.

I hope you learn how many times I have left my dreams at the altar

Just to chase the thread of trauma you tied around my chest.

You wanted to be the bad guy, the defaulter,

To show me my place and screw over the rest.

This is your chance to be the martyr –

One step forward and you will pass the test.

(But I guess I should have known you will never play smarter.

So, enjoy as you get smothered by all the harm you have not confessed.)

-JW

All Our Wars

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You are my ancestral curse,

Swaying in the wind every fall,

Tangling up my words.

Once in a while I hear the call,

It punctures me like darts,

But I just close the curtains,

Picking apart my broken parts,

Decaying from feeling uncertain.

You are my last blood nemesis,

Racing me for the crown.

I climb your twisted fallacies,

Hoping I can burn this town.

You paint me with parentheses,

Re-explaining my oldest scars,

Claiming I belong on my knees

When I have won all our wars.

-JW

Sweeter Than Revenge

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The darkest nights fill me up like a seven-course meal.

Everything from past regrets to clouds colored in teal,

From the faintest stars to anger that runs through blood,

It all flows into my irises as I spew darkness like flood.

And the others warned me about the muddy shadows,

But I have learned to live in the shade and opaque lows.

The moon touches my skin with its rays like tentacles,

Burning away my flesh until my form becomes skeletal.

I try to drown out the writings on the wall you left,

They stain my shell, then leave me plain and wrecked.

The part of me that trusted creatures of the day is gone,

Now I am swimming up the hill, ready to kill and spawn.

And the darkest nights make me hungrier than ever.

Run while you can, this will not be a friendly endeavor.

I come with the darkness, but do not leave in the dawn.

This is sweeter than revenge, watching your traitors crawl.

-JW

Erasing Your Name

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Did I have the slightest chance of saving myself that August evening?

Some insist these invisible bruises don’t need any healing.

I’ve buried the shame deep in my cupboard, but you know what they say –

The sinner breaks the rose-colored glasses, and the victim always pays.

And lately I’ve been thinking about people I can never forgive,

I just count down all the ghouls and scars which I won’t outlive.

Your name sits on the top of the list like a bloody throne.

My god, what I would give to ensure your breath leaves me alone.

I would cut off the parts you touched without any hesitation…

But it would exculpate you, so I kill the burning temptation.

As long as I live, I carry your cross on my back like a target.

My wrath is ablaze, it has the sting of a threatened hornet.

But you act unbothered, so sometimes I drink the poison myself.

They told me loud and clear – I shouldn’t have lifted you off the shelf.

And now my name is entangled with yours, no way to erase it.

Can’t help but despise my younger self, and how she never faced this.

My every decision leads back to that cursed August night.

I wonder if anything would’ve been different if I put up a fight.

-JW

Confession

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The memories of your touch possess me,

They drive screws through the obsessed me.

I can’t sleep as my addiction takes form,

Cursing every men I’ve met since I was born.

My body is a statement, not a choice.

They claim I like it as they tear apart my voice,

And all the lies start piling up on my chest

Until I agree, and they say I have confessed.

-JW

Some Sea Foam And Venus

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They are circling me like ravenous vultures,

They only see me as their prey.

It is deep-rooted in this culture,

Never admit it, never do as you say.

The smell of my most recent flesh wound

Makes their feathers shuffle weakly.

My blades are broken, they are all off tune.

Still, I sharpen them weekly.

I live on revenge and broken innocence,

The last two things I fully own.

The wolves stole my dreams of a picket fence,

Now all my hate is homegrown.

As they circle and come even closer,

I sigh as my left lung collapses.

They laugh, threatening me with closure,

But I reach for ellipsis.

I know their help is the greatest faux aid,

A betrayal to my trauma and pain.

One day their claws and teeth will fade,

But by then ice water will run in my veins.

They are circling me like chuckling hyenas,

They see me as the final act.

It all started with some sea foam and Venus,

There is no way to break this pact.

-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

Helpless In A Gown

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Had to hide my femininity in dresses made of steel,

Had to hide my pain in heels, and they made me bleed.

Not that I hate my features, not that I feel gentle,

My head is a wire in an atomic bomb being dismantled.

Had to hang in the ropes you tied around my chest,

Had to listen about your struggles without any rest.

Now my fake smile looks more like a crooked frown,

And I can only think about dragging you down,

Down here where I have lived for so many years.

There is something freeing about people without fear

And about places that are burning to the ground

As you stand there watching, helpless in a gown.

Had to hide my emotions in red wrapping paper,

Had to hide the grief so I could not find it later.

My past is now covered in inches of ash and dust.

I laugh in pure agony while you stare in haughty disgust.

-JW