Tag: letting go

Certain Kind of Happiness

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Oh, how I loved you… You must admit

There wasn’t place for anyone else to enter.

We never called it quits

But you mocked me as a mind bender

So I hid and covered my fits.

Oh, how lucky I am to see you go down,

And for all you’ve done, I’m not surprised.

Hope this makes your mommy proud.

Hope I’m the Trojan horse, well disguised.

Your agony is my prize.

Oh, how glad I was about it being over.

Your friends talked loud but I didn’t listen.

It was always my doing, giving you a cold shoulder?!

Hope your next mistress – she christens,

Because the bravery in you so often bristles.

Oh, how bitter my existence must taste.

You’ve been played, and I’m clearly the face.

I wanted to forget but now it’s all waste –

The times you screwed me over… No trace.

Remember – you called me ‘out of place’?

(Never challenge a hellhound to a puppy race.)

-JW

Leading Your Nightmares

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And I think you regret everything after all, don’t you, darling?

Who am I to guess your regrets after you came at me, snarling…

But the feeling was deeper than shame I exuded at the moment.

The warmth was taken aback the second true words were spoken.

I often dream about you having nightmares where I am the lead,

We’re talking loud, you’re being mean, yet – you can’t compete.

All your arguments crash against the surface of your shallow grave.

Who would’ve guessed? The most prideful of primates will go

Still lacking the skill to behave.

Don’t blame me – I didn’t have the time to dig you that ditch.

How many times in the past two years you called me a bitch?

Who can count? Certainly, not you, denial is the key to winning.

So today let’s cheers to the odds of you ever touching me again

Critically thinning.

-JW

Lonely Poetry Ritual

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Not missing you hurts more than holding onto your arm for dear life.

That was the part I least expected. Did you?

Did it cut like a hollow knife?

Don’t be fooled, I’m not looking for answers in lonely poetry rituals tonight.

I’m simply grasping the little ironies of how instead of leaving it all alone

I put up a fight.

The calm I feel now – wouldn’t sell if for 30 pieces of silver, I think Judas lied.

Or maybe he did it to embrace the peace afterwards,

And the offer of coins simply aligned?

But I’m not angry anymore – so it’s impossible to hang around the grief,

It’s even difficult to recall how rage fumed out of my nostrils

Hence I’m asking you to keep the goodbyes brief.

Not missing you is like taking a shower and rediscovering my own skin underneath –

Again, after all the slaps and bruising, and dragging my name through the mud

I’m finally smiling with my teeth.

Your time is up, old friend, please take the last empty seat.

-JW

The Last Moments of Being in Love

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We’re the personification of a thunderstorm after a heated summer day.

Relief is entangled in fresh air. The daisies in my cheeks are longing for rain.

As soon as the first droplets hit the chalky ground, a lightning strikes.

With the weight of my love I push you up a hill, disturbing the butterflies.

We’re the embodiment of warm July evenings turning chilly in the blink of an eye.

Fruit trees are tired from reaching for sun-kisses. The earth is bone dry.

When the thunder rumbles over the lonely fields, you’re carrying me deeper into the twilight zone –

Might as well run through the dark, the rain is so heavy it feels as if we have blinders on.

We’re the epitome of the golden hour paused by some biting wind.

The chimes are rocking back and forth, calling me saint right after I’ve sinned.

Rosy sky trickles down so quick, burns our skins aimlessly, like a pint of lava.

But we’re taken by the touch, we don’t see it.

When they’re asking which vices to erase, we both whisper “nada”.

-JW