Tag: Jackie

Fake Funny

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All they do is talk about fake happiness and how it kills the heart.

Are we still uncomfortable to hear that “fake funny” is the superior art?

The joke you let slide about your friend or a rude remark masked as “preference”…

And genuinely – all the funny remarks you make to avoid someone

Pointing out a painful existence.

Sometimes a laughing matter can be turned into a glass container

Hence you keep bottling up your emotions for the sake of a traitor –

Yet your brain will turn to mush to make it all sound like a choking hazard.

So many ears and eyes open to change of pace – but their truths

Remain stiff and plastered.

Another sarcastic comment underneath a discussion about double standards

Or how we’re going backwards too often.

But it’s not facts, it’s just the lack of manners.

The funnier the joke about these crowds, the pain, yourself, your own suffering,

The less you have to worry that anyone will start bothering

With questions that will cause stuttering.

Therefore, you hold onto the laughing matter instead of facing your lesions,

And people will judge you for the consequences, not for the reasons

Because you were the regent,

Not the victim, as per they trends from last seasons.

-JW

A Short History Of Another Working Class Disaster

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I spent the day under covers trying to uncover my own truths about healing

Because I’d spent a decade believing I’d rather be acceptable than breathing

Through my own lungs, with two pink cheeks, with soft skin and mind.

But I couldn’t bear that cost so I erased myself gram by gram,

Until they went blind.

I used to believe I’d rather cut out my own eyeballs than notice an imperfection.

Years wasted thinking that how I look was the reason I got most rejections,

Not because my carcass was barely holding the pale surface together as a trophy,

But don’t call the cops on my stolen years and feel free not to cry

A soft-spoken “sorry”.

I found happiness in truth but I never looked for truth in happiness, I couldn’t.

The pain left in me was a fireproof glass but the joy was short-lived and wooden,

And the streets weren’t welcoming because nothing’s a compliment to a deflector –

Not the classic kind, just another working class disaster repeating itself

Like a broken vector.

-JW

Black Hair Dye And Hospital Rooms

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Six stitches on my left thigh from the bruising your spite caused.

I bang my neck against the walls but they’re quiet, holding the applause.

No one notices my pleas for painkillers or your black hair dye fumes.

Trapped in a hospital room built out of hunger and imagined dooms.

“You’re not right,” I hear someone think through the yellow brick doors.

I squint but don’t lift my lids off the ground.

Must’ve been the corpse of my imagined flaws.

Six stitches on my scalp from the damage your faulty perception caused.

I claw out my hair but you ask to keep digging my nails with dirty paws –

No one sees as I fade away, begging for a way out, other than the window.

They dye my hair fiery red. I hear someone from the backstage cheer “bingo”.

-JW

Ten Small Town Commandments For Growing Up Convenient

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“Praise the leaders that weren’t a prey in somebody else’s tale,

Pray for the ladies who never made it out when society failed –

But that’s all you should do, just pray, keep your head down.

For God’s sake, don’t write this down, respect this (filthy) town!

And wasn’t it your mother who started this riot, you legal deviancy?

Look ahead, we’re going to pair you with someone we truly fancy.

Don’t mind the rebels screaming for freedom, it’s a charming farce.

You’ve written too many fantasy tales already, where’s the nurse?

See, lonely ladies like you are going straight to the judgement hearse.

Listen! Be natural, be enough, and don’t be a goddamn curse.”

-JW

Introduction To An Unreliable Narrator

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Did I promise to tell you the truth with all these lines

Or did I promise to lie until each of them rhymes?

I can’t hold an honest conversation about my pain

Not thinking it’s a competition that consumes my brain.

Yes, I’m sick, swallowed by the system and chewed up,

Looking like a normal product of society, maybe, somewhat.

My left foot chained to a curling iron thinning it out,

My right arm drained of its blood by panic and yesterday’s doubt.

But you might pass me in the street wondering how I’m so well –

And truthfully, no one but me could really tell

How a mess of a human presents that well on the front page

Or the Facebook feed of another lover I blocked with rage…

Did I promise to tell you the truth with these lines

Or did I promise to lie until each of them rhymes?

Whatever you heard – must be worth all the energy to get this far,

And if you believe that I’m being honest, you might have a heart.

-JW

The Origin Story

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One of those way too hot summer days but I’m trying to make it work.

Haven’t had a meal since Monday, yet I’m feeling they’re ready to lurk.

Putting my best foot forward on the dusty, forgotten town roads at north –

Not even five minutes in, a horde on my back breaking all the walls,

Even the fourth.

The sentences sneak up slowly, they’re there to capture and also – to kill.

Haven’t thought of myself this way. My blood runs cold, it stays still.

Every step I take gets heavier – or am I heavier now? Impossible to tell.

The darkest of thoughts thus far rush to my brain, and my eyes blink,

Ready to swell.

Shaking and scared to the core, I walk faster to avoid the burning heat

Of the words spoken so meanly, so categorically, and I know I don’t deserve

The right to breathe

Unless I’m good enough, tiny and form-fitting enough,

Plenty from all the sides and angles enough,

Enough, enough, enough.

Why wasn’t it enough?

Why did you have to say it out loud, would it make your parents proud?

Why did you chase me down like a hunter chases down its prey with a hound,

Hoping I won’t make a sound?

Because here I am eight years later writing this story,

Hopeful, enough and proud, wishing my father would call me

To also admit that, honestly, he’s been bathing in his own “sorry”,

And too blinded by the shine of gold, for the lack of a better allegory.

But on my worst days I’m still in that summer day eight years back, ready to go,

To disappear into nothing – if that’s more pleasing to strangers who I don’t even know.

Placing my best foot forward, keeping it together so tight it my break my heart altogether

But I guess it’s all a circumstance of the gruelling weather

And my thighs not being lighter than a fallen feather.

-JW

Sick Leave

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Killing my every spare moment with buzz and with noise.

Made it thus far without booze spilling on my records of choice.

Ears bleeding from sound attacking my senses like thirsty wolves

But I’ve only made it this far through thoughts that dissolve.

Spreading my hopes on bread without guilt to eat them all up.

My last week’s happy face on the streets was a cover up

And my covers are tinted with deep blue undertones, if you noticed.

When death and I finally waltz, I might even get a bonus.

They call my eyes playful but painfully so, if that’s a hint.

The chaos behind those greyish stones could use a lighter tint.

A true artist never unveils tricks or techniques but I oppose –

When graveyard goes for the flash button, I strike a pose.

With each coming second the buzz will become a craftier thieve.

You’ll ignore these lines while I apply for another sick leave.

-JW

Mint

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Peppermint leaves melting ice cubes with their vital scent.

I’m crushing your heart being nice while you’re smoking a Kent.

The window is calling my skeleton nightly, like it’s for rent.

“Take a step back, friend, and use one more day to make amends.”

The cold water is squeaking my name and I must yell back.

Listened to seven records today, ditched the blame and finished the track.

Still – I can’t sleep, the pain my brain vomits paints it all black

But I promised to stay. Demons entered my soul. What a heart attack…

Does everyone else feel this haunted just for breathing aloud?

Is it a split between those who I trust and us, stormy clouds?

I’d help every stranger I meet, if my mind said that it’s allowed.

My words can’t melt you away but they can circle and crowd

Until I’m up that hill, ditching your cigarette smell and my doubt.

I’ll get to the promised land first. I’ll get to the thought drought.

-JW

Wager

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Building oceans out of used duct tape rolls,

Hiding the motions while it’s taking a toll –

The chemistry’s fake and we’re caught blinded.

Five years ago I thought we’re like-minded.

But people change morals and wind changes heart.

I chose to go silent and you chose to go dark.

Won’t call you arch nemesis or even a stranger,

Yet the money I put on you –

I’d never again repeat that wager.

-JW

“Hard To Work With”

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Always threatened to meet my maker if I disobey –

If my smile isn’t wide enough, I have to pay.

If my sleeves are too short, I become the prey.

The world must be someone else’s oyster because to me

It’s another circle in a groundhog day.

Always scared to be left scarred or for the dead –

If I ever talk back, they might crush my head.

If I have some pride, they call me featherbed.

But they can’t stop, I need to be taught a lesson

No matter how much I’ve already bled.

Always scrutinized for not being cautious all the way –

If you get annoyed by my attitude, I don’t get a say.

If you think I’m pretty, I must keep your affection at bay.

And I pray, and I pray, and I pray that there comes a time

Where my experience is not underplayed

So I don’t have to put “hard to work with” on my resume.

-JW