Tag: poet

In my head I am rewriting every story you told me.

You made me promise I would keep them,

But, honey, that was the old me.

And the ink bites the cuts on my palms with jealousy.

You swore I was your winning piece,

Still, you never owned a part of me.

Every street in my hometown makes me think of you.

I said a million little things,

None of them heartfelt or true.

This castle of lies hangs above my head like a nimbus.

Difficult to carry alone,

Easier than imploding Olympus.

And the dust settles on my lapel like little bits of regret.

I shake them off with disgust,

Hoping to erase the day that we met.

In your mind I have your story tattooed on my neck.

You forced me to learn it by heart,

But, honey, I was never your wreck.

-JW

All my writing sounds like satire since you made my words miserable,

The sentences carry giant rocks uphill.

It’s ironic how holding my silence feels almost biblical.

And you haven’t thought about my perspective once since that day.

You change locks like your objectives,

Knowing I chose to swallow my screams and stay.

As long as you pay, I have to keep up the great illusion of respect.

Your delusions feel like a swirling quicksand,

But I must stay afloat, even when wrecked.

The bigger people in my life swore it’s nothing to worry about.

If one more mouth whispers “boys will be boys”,

I will drop dead in this helpless drought.

Each symbol I type laughs at my naivety, knowing you’ve won.

Your warm skin follows me down the rabbit holes,

Forcing me to face all you’ve done.

Nothing I can do will balance out the damage you leave behind.

My words are making me choke these days,

And it is funny how it hasn’t crossed your mind.

-JW

Did I have the slightest chance of saving myself that August evening?

Some insist these invisible bruises don’t need any healing.

I’ve buried the shame deep in my cupboard, but you know what they say –

The sinner breaks the rose-colored glasses, and the victim always pays.

And lately I’ve been thinking about people I can never forgive,

I just count down all the ghouls and scars which I won’t outlive.

Your name sits on the top of the list like a bloody throne.

My god, what I would give to ensure your breath leaves me alone.

I would cut off the parts you touched without any hesitation…

But it would exculpate you, so I kill the burning temptation.

As long as I live, I carry your cross on my back like a target.

My wrath is ablaze, it has the sting of a threatened hornet.

But you act unbothered, so sometimes I drink the poison myself.

They told me loud and clear – I shouldn’t have lifted you off the shelf.

And now my name is entangled with yours, no way to erase it.

Can’t help but despise my younger self, and how she never faced this.

My every decision leads back to that cursed August night.

I wonder if anything would’ve been different if I put up a fight.

-JW

The memories of your touch possess me,

They drive screws through the obsessed me.

I can’t sleep as my addiction takes form,

Cursing every men I’ve met since I was born.

My body is a statement, not a choice.

They claim I like it as they tear apart my voice,

And all the lies start piling up on my chest

Until I agree, and they say I have confessed.

-JW