I sell and barter my last faith away
But I can’t be bothered
To save some for a rainy day.
In my view, it’s been pouring rain,
It’s been like this for ages, really.
So don’t turn my pages,
Don’t remove the flooring and pain.
And ask – who are you saving here?
My faith or your craving
To be close when I disappear?
But I’m steady where I stand.
Be ready to fight
If you ever dare to give me a command.
-JW
We’re all raised with these naïve ideas of our identities but we don’t know,
We sing along to whatever rhymes and when it doesn’t, we amplify the audio.
“You’re not the bad day in your story, you’re not even the narrator.
You’re neither the background noise nor the all-knowing, sad traitor.”
This is how we’re guided through earlier years, believing it’s all there is –
Why wouldn’t it be, if it makes so much sense and makes our lives muy feliz?
The faster we grow, the harder it gets to find truth in those poorly written tales,
And with every piece of faith we breathe in, there are seven parts of us that exhale.
“You’re not the worst day in your story, you’re not even the almighty narrator.
You’re neither the background cacophony, don’t be a goddamn traitor!”
The more they repeat, the quicker you reason your way out of their crossroads,
And once the spell’s broken, the princes turn back into the ancient swamp toads.
But don’t be ashamed or worried – we’re all raised on these old world remedies.
We’re safe as long as it seems to a passerby that we’re still on our knees.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 