Tag: Mirror Wounds

Beating The Reflection

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It doesn’t get much easier when the mirror is no longer lying

Because you can’t take back the bullets,

Can’t take back the prying.

Once you were trying so hard to beat the broken reflection

But it was never playing your game

Of zero love and affection.

Now you have to thoroughly question – why does it cut you still

Whenever the night puts its claws

On your windowsill?

But as long as you swallow it like a bitter pill each morning,

I don’t think there’s a reason

For senseless mourning.

There’s peace in the mirror image getting boring and plain

And even if it doesn’t get easier,

It takes away the pain.

-JW

Glass Limousine

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I see my refection in store windows and taxis,

It would be a lie if I told you it’s not taxing

And it would be a travesty to tell you I can sleep

When I’ve spent years driving this glass limousine.

Everyone’s seen the uphill battles in real time,

Cheered for the downfalls, paid for some new grime.

The climb is what really bores them to death

So they clap way too loud, and I take it as a threat.

But while they’re observing, I thrive in the blind spots,

I build a life out of fumes in case this car stops.

One day they’ll run out of gasoline to feed it,

One day it’ll devour all these low-hanging people.

Until then I keep driving, hiding weapons under covers,

And I hold my hope close like a hopeless lover.

I still see my reflection in chic silverware and screens

But it would be a lie if I told you that nowadays

I don’t also see it raindrops and trees.

-JW

Osmium Head

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The tiredness pulls my lead limbs towards the ground,

Like a form of gravity that’s unspoken, yet unfound.

The strings that tie my will together weaken each day

And I hope they don’t snap but it’s too late to pray.

I chase down the healers, I seek out the warlocks –

They treat my burning tears like a poison hemlock.

I look for old scrolls in the most secret of folders,

The coldness in my spine slides up to the shoulders

As I turn the last page and there’s nothing to save me.

My osmium head keeps sinking faster in this dark sea.

The mirror image trembles, each night it grows fainter,

My body is the canvas and the heaviness – its painter.

-JW

The Showman

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I guess I’ll just burn in my own mind’s oven

Or throw out my resume and build a new coven.

The thirteen of us will meet in the fields

Where strong people rise and weak men yield.

I guess you’ll just watch me take back what’s mine,

Not a word will object this, only deep sighs.

Once the flames start climbing high over our heads,

I’ll give you a minute to make the amends.

But I guess we’re just never going to fix it,

Go drink all the betrayal, you’re the one who mixed it.

This one time I won’t burn for your petty pledges,

Pick up the shreds, don’t cut the claws on the edges.

And I guess I’ll just stand as the rest of them bow,

You said it’s not the right moment – but the time is now.

It’s your time to take the heat as an atonement,

And you can keep calling me a dirty witch but, honey,

Soon they’ll see you’re only a showman.

-JW

December 18th, 2020

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Can’t help but wonder again – how many more

Pounds of flesh do I have to give away for free

To meet the norm?

And there’s nothing normal about this –

Shattering at 6 AM on a Monday morning,

Closing in on the dark abyss.

The pressure gets heavier each afternoon

So I stay inside to pity myself,

To curse at the moon.

But it reflects my chants like sunrays –

And there’s no way it ever gets better

If I stay.

There’s no way this story has a good ending

If all I grow to know

Is silence and pretending.

When my lips are shut, they grow stronger

On the power I gathered myself –

Until I can’t go on much longer.

Can I even go on from here, can I move?

Their tentacles strangle me

But what do I have to prove?

So I swallow the bitterness and resign the “sorry”s.

I don’t need a tougher skin,

I need to extract myself from your stories.

You can tell your greedy mirror image

To bear one more storm.

My part in this narrative is finished,

Recall your swarm.

-JW

Sister Moon

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I pave the pale moonlight with my lightest shoes,

Bruises on my neck as if you needed more proof

That where I come from is a land of temptation

But it has nothing to do with my destination.

The chimneys cry charcoal mascara tears,

Smeared across their cheeks by well-meaning peers.

The dusty air holds the start of another story

I’ll make up while these empty roads bore me.

And the dark parts of my mind sting like darts,

Hard to point them away from the wounded parts.

My joints tell me to look back once more

But I know I’ll get enchanted by all the gore.

I just pave the night, I keep braving the night

As sister moon mirrors rays so I stay in light.

Once the sun sweats over the evergreen trees,

The lures behind my back wail like banshees.

-JW

For Too Many Eternities To Count

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The little rainclouds are growing into a thunderstorm.

Right under the place we last fell apart

The ground is burning, nice and warm.

No one knows the lengths I’d go to dissolve you again.

No one knows the shame I carry around

In the ink of my pen.

But I’d rebuild silver cities if it meant I could be free.

I’d paint the sky navy blue if it meant

That I could finally sleep.

And my arms would lift mountains just to clear the dust

Which you brought into my view with pain,

Masked as a fiery lust.

Yet – I know well that your footprints cannot be erased.

No matter how hard I swing,

They keep showing up in a new place.

This shame might linger for too many eternities to count.

And even my spite might not be enough

To beat the next goddamn round.

-JW

These Ghosts

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And once again I pick on myself until I bleed,

Rashes behind my ears let the demons feed.

The red trickling down my back is too warm.

I’m done voiding myself to save others from harm.

Though the heart drums beat dangerously loud

I manage to raise my voice over these crowds.

They turn their heads to catch a brief glimpse

Of this pulled apart soul, covered in safety pins.

For a moment they listen as I raise my hands,

They see my anger trickling into the sand.

With roaring applause their faces turn to dust,

I bow to myself in the mirror, covered in rust.

And maybe you weren’t right when you said

“These ghosts will only cheer over your deathbed.”

-JW

The Second To Last Chapter

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One day the sun will shine for me and not for you.

You’ll beg it to stop like I once begged you

Too many moons ago.

But, honey, we’re on top

And you’re no longer latched onto me.

You’re free fall will be just a flop,

But you’ll still mix crudeness with honesty.

Go ahead and drag me on their sharp, grinding teeth.

Laugh in your palms quietly

As you’re struggling to breathe.

Because it was always you, dear,

Headed for the mighty fall.

Hide your shaky hands as it nears,

Don’t fear their anger, just stand tall.

I might’ve put you in the sun one too many times.

Now that we know there’s no place for you,

I won’t hide away the crimes.

And one morning the light will come for me, not for you.

Today feels like the second to last chapter

Of you ever mouthing

“I’ve got power over you.”

-JW

I Dream Of Gardens

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The glass door to your garden is covered in mist.

I try to break through but I cut my soft fists.

The roses and daffodils breathe in synchrony

While the hives in my mind calmingly sing to me.

Yes, you might even blame my tunnel vision

But I watered your flowers despite the incisions.

The dread in my face screams it is far too late

To talk me out of freezing by your glass gate.

One day they will wonder – why did she stay

Crushed under the pages she used to tear away.

Yet – they will never hear how your garden died

That night we uncovered all the parasites.

There goes another decade my remains rot away

Right by the blossoms turning sickly grey.

The glass door to your garden is covered in mist,

It is nothing but a mirror for those who you miss.

-JW