Once again we’re dancing towards the shore,
Hoping there’s a bigger love,
Hoping there’s something more.
You know – I’m ready to let go of the control.
Eyes open, fingers at ease –
My soul’s out on a parole.
Don’t go. Inhale the thunders. Exhale the storm.
The coast plays with our visions,
The silence rings an alarm.
And we keep dancing towards the shore,
Knowing there’s a bigger love,
Knowing – there’s always a little more.
-JW
Running down empty lanes and drives of the city I once knew,
Assuming I can find you again in this plastic, dusty zoo.
Looking around street corners and under each empty bin.
The lust is my greatest enemy but right now it tastes as good as sin.
No self-esteem left once I empty the last of my pride in these streets
And I don’t want to trade my soul away for another misdeed.
I keep my eyes open when I cry
To make sure your face doesn’t slip by.
I’m releasing the numbness just for you.
I wish you could dare to need me too.
-JW
The weight of the stares towering over my body is crushing all hope within.
The clock on the wall is wearing me down, bruising my patience paper-thin.
As the loneliness sets into my muscles, my lids are opened by a sound.
I stare into the darkness of the room. I let out a sigh and let my heart pound.
I see him there, serious as ever, empty pockets and expensive shoes.
For a second the mask slips and he grins, on his chin a pale round bruise.
One step in my direction, then two, now we’re only moments apart.
I blink and he’s gone, the weight is pulling me down with all force…
But it’s alright, we’re no longer back at the start.
-JW
The nurses rush into the room carrying sleep medication.
I try to refuse but my addiction wants to feed its temptations.
A cold needle in my knee, I squirm but keep myself patient.
If I hush a bit more, we can conquer the sleep deprivation.
The doctors hold my arms down as I gasp and reach for air.
All the pain inside is too much to handle with simple despair.
With the last of my strength I watch them cut off my hair.
If I suffer a moment more, they’re going to bury my soul bare.
-JW
Lull air. Muted sounds. Pastel colors.
Walls covered in lies and gilded Madonnas.
Dull headache. Severe injuries all over.
Wounds patched together with a single clover.
Unsteady breathing. Calming voices. Plastic.
Draconian measures taken to keep me spastic.
Ice cubes melting on my stomach. Cleansing.
An act of kindness to make me forget
The walls, chasms and dim gothic fencing.
I must remember, I have to retell the story…
But the trance overpowers me
And the pastel walls turn gory.
-JW
The weather is perfect for carrying another predicament.
Go ahead and curse me out,
Send the dogs right after my scent.
The leaves in visibly plastic trees beg for attention
And I carry out their every wish.
They notice but never once mention.
The air pierces my left lung and pinches the heart repeatedly.
Stab wound on stab wound, well layered,
Silencing me in perfect harmony.
The roofs of recently built homes covered in nasty rust.
I close my right eye to see clearer.
The sun turns tenebrous, the winds break my trust.
-JW
Slender figures rushing the foggy streets in agony,
Struggling to pay for the rent of their own minds,
An irony, a travesty.
I run with them past armed guards and loopy culverts.
The dogs are onto us the second we hit the road.
They want to make us the culprits.
We see purple cloaks rolling down the streets like carpets,
Altering the sights of the city, choking out those
That grew defiant.
Rays of sun playing on sharpened edges of machetes.
The weak are taken back to their rooms with menace,
Others become enlistees.
The fog is entering my flaring nostrils, it’s spreading.
My legs become numb to the pain of their teeth.
I fall on the floor, staining the bedding.
-JW
Looking for catharsis in the simplest moments –
When I begged a passer-by, he quoted the Romans.
Preaching release of repression through limbos and tears
Running by churches, bowing to old emblems of fear.
I might find it, I might even find it soon,
Before the last droplets of mist start their bloom.
But the peak is scarier up-close and I can’t compare
This mountain top to another plain moment we share.
The last battle of release is approaching, I can sense
As my limbs no longer hear their own commands.
The meadow connecting Earth with the sky is missing.
Let’s run for the summit right now,
Even if the divine is hissing.
-JW
Hands on my body, her hands are getting me drunk.
It was hard to say no so I jumped off, I sunk.
All the flags are rosy if your eyes are pumped with blood,
If your “no” causes storms and a biblical flood.
Hands on my hands, her palms get me so damn angry.
The fangs pierce my neck and she keeps the pills handy –
Just in case I try to outrun my faith and leave her be
So she chants “it’s you and me, baby” like a prophecy.
Hands on my throat, her hands are taking my breath.
I’m ready to submit while she quotes Macbeth.
All the flags are red but she’ll turn you colour-blind
And you’ll only see the best your future can offer
When it’s already behind.
-JW
“No one ever imagined. No one ever knew.
Nobody could tell because you weren’t that blue.”
The more you faded, the more it was praised
And everyone saw your illness but believed –
Your standards were raised.
So you became “healthier” when you got sicker.
“The pulsating veins and blood shot eyes will pass
But you will forever look like a sticker.”
A prize. A gift. The golden medal for someone else
Who never notices how pain rots on the shelves
But sex sells.
You never relied on those ideals, but they lived within you.
Too deep rooted to untangle from your truth
So no one ever knew
How the broken version of you was all fiction,
How you begged for mercy to nights
As they created the most friction
To a troublesome concept of worth in a young mind.
Why be kind? Why resist and leave it all behind?
Truth be told –
Almost no one that pushed this onto me so sincerely
Truly made it out, never saw it clearly.
But you don’t owe a single second of illness
To people who believe your existence is a grimness,
And to those still imposing standards on others I can only tell:
Save your self-hate speeches masked as advise for yourself.
Choke as long as needed. I’ve been doing it since I was twelve.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 