confessional poetry – The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright

What do I suffer over now that the curse has lifted?
Who do I call when I’m no longer broken and bitter?
I walked two years with my eyes down, barely open,
Waiting to break a leg, begging to waste a moment.

My pleas did not make it to heaven, but neither did my gods,
And I erased myself from every good battle I fought.
The times have shifted into moments I hold so close.
I can barely unclench my fist from the stem of the rose.

And to you, staring my black rags up and down,
Just know that I broke the curse when my spark drowned,
And I built a new one from charcoal and sandpaper,
While Time prayed for me, hoping I would meet my maker.

With no one to call and no soul left to regret,
I am blurring the face of everyone I have met.
Yet the colors slide back into place, the sharpness persists;
The birds chirp, the sun rises, the mist lifts.

Is this only for a day, or can I trust the green light?
If Warmth starves me again, I will not pick a new fight.
The curse will find me again, but so will the cure.
There is no pleasure in keeping your worst intentions pure.

He who cursed me does not get a seat at the dinner table,
As I emerge from the hearse, twelve gravely months later.
Pain feels different, more like a memory than my fate,
And the smiling faces on my wall tell me
I didn’t need to drown to get saved.

-Jackie

The diary of your latest test object.

Close-up photo of black and white journal — *^{Photo by Min An}*

What a curse, what a privilege,

Looking through the director’s cuts in my memory,

Playing videos on my phone in an infinite loop

Until I’m sure of your covert treachery.

Context.

Clues.

Abuse.

Proof.

I dig through the pages until my fingers bleed.

Your gags come back to me in waves until I choke,

Spiraling deeper, sinking toward the ocean floor.

They said it was a joke.

The panic attacks,

Sleepless nights,

Nosebleeds,

Fights,

Rashes,

Emotional downfalls,

Mascara dripping off my lashes.

…a JOKE?

My eyes were soulless, my skin bruised and ashen.

My friends told me we could outrun the death wish,

But we don’t talk about the winter of 2024 anymore,

At least not since demise herself told me to perish.

Humor.

Revenge.

Picking sides.

Dead ends.

I’m not sure how I found my way to the lighthouse.

The fog lifted one day, yet I waited for the waves to return.

Waited for your words to serve as the anchor.

Even silence scared me, quiet made my stomach churn.

Nothing.

Peace.

Sunrise.

Sunset.

Routines kept me alive, ink kept me sane.

The grapevine was quiet until a message came through.

A broken sea creature dropped on my doormat,

And I almost stepped on it before realizing it was you.

Obsessed.

Paralyzed.

Greedy.

Antagonized.

I lock the door to keep you out,

Hoping you don’t turn into a sea monster,

But nothing’s promised.

I’ve escaped dozens of nooses,

Even mine,

But yours was the only one that called me alarmist.

Until the day that you rot,

Until my stomach’s in knots,

We will watch each other in perfect symmetry,

Crowds wondering who deserves the penalty.

Keep wondering.

Guess.

I kept the records.

Kept the mess.

Context.

Clues.

Abuse.

Proof.

-Jackie

Tag: confessional poetry

He Who Cursed Me

The Archivist