Tag: poetry series

Bring It To Light

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Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev

Not a scratch on my body as I crawl off the battlefield,

And you might be after me,

But my spite is a jester’s shield.

I suck in the smoke coming from heavy machinery.

No one dares to shoot first

Except for you and your apologies.

Seven angels stare me down and spit on my dirty feet,

But I know they don’t mean it

If they don’t want to fight thirty fleets.

I have the force of an uncouth god looking for a legacy,

And you’re the grey prophet,

Drowning me in green fantasies.

Which one of us started this descent into travesty?

Which one will erase the lines?

Who will sweat out some honesty?

As you bring me to light, I grit my own bloody teeth,

And you might be the champion,

But there are no saints left here.

-Jackie

Pick Your Poison

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Photo by Ozan Çulha

My body is just a shell with no operator,

And I fill it with substances when it gets dark.

Pretty poisons hang from my bathroom mirror,

Claiming they can give me back the spark.

But these pills I’m taking kill the joy

And they carve my love for you into questions.

My tongue strikes like the snake in Eden

Until every living soul gets tired of my confessions.

-Jackie

Vapor

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Photo by Marina Gr

It evaporated that warm August night when I waited for your call,

But it did not come through

Because whenever I picked up my wings, you dropped like an anchor and stalled.

It evaporated after you did not check in after my late-night flight.

You did not tell me a single thing,

Then went silent when I tried to beg, borrow, and pick up a fight.

It evaporated that evening I reached out to you as the last resort,

And all you did was distance yourself

When I needed a soul that could help me hold up the fort.

It evaporated that October morning I woke up not calling your name

After months upon months of screaming it,

And that morning I knew I had a shot at winning this game.

It evaporated when I told you I wanted you and not your reason,

But you turned it into a childish gag,

Breaking what was left of my pride into the smallest pieces.

It evaporates as I type out these words on this tired screen.

I do not think there is much left,

And you will not stop until the water turns into pure chlorine.

It evaporates, but only because I bled myself dry to keep it flowing.

I am older now, so I can admit it –

Sometimes I wish I had a shot at not loving,

Not knowing.

-Jackie

Dancing With The Flames Of Hell

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Photo by Ekaterina Astakhova

I am left with no cards to play,

No petty tricks up my sleeve.

I watch as they sell my shoes

And sign me up for some schemes.

I thought heat would spare me

When I danced with the flames of hell.

My reasons got tangled up

And nobody here rang the bell.

The wrong crowds adored me

While the good ones all slipped away.

I thought the path found my feet,

But all roads were in disarray.

So here I am with no cards to play

And nobody to call a friend.

I stare as they choke my heart,

And I welcome the bitter end.

-Jackie

Happiness

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Photo by Sangeet Rao

What if I blurt out the words and let them shoot across the foggy fields like sun rays?

What if I jump in the clear water just to feel the chill tingling my head like a haze?

I am far too afraid to let out a sound because the hounds have been after my scent.

The last time I took that risk they cleaned out my heart and put my chest up for rent.

The feeling deserves its place under the sky, but my lips refuse to part for weeks,

And I am stuck on a cliff with everyone watching me, thinking that I have grown weak.

But what if the water turns out to be muddy and the people I love simply leave? 

What if my confessions are nothing but daydreams that I could not trap in my sleep?

I know there are those who are queueing up to see me fall in the wrong direction. 

If they hear my heartbeat picking up the pace, they will gossip about me selling affection.

Still, my breaths are running out of misdirected anger to convert into selfish fear,

And every year I learn more about how happy people do not hold judgements dear.

So, what if I spill the sentences until they form a new version of these old bones? 

What if I run off this cliff and dive into the water just to find out that I am never alone?

-Jackie

The Monster Behind Us

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Photo by Lena Glukhova

Some ten years ago I wrote this poem about my own demise,

And the streets were only black and white –

No gray and no compromise.

Nobody ever read it because I did not want them to know.

I just let the sadness take the wheel

As I sat back in the last row.

No, that is not true, I was really pushed down on my bare knees,

Praying that someone could hear me

And burn my apologies.

Nobody ever knew it because I hid under my luminous titles.

Achievements can be the carrot,

But they can also be the monster behind us.

Now I sit here a decade later with an army of me in the corner,

Sharpening blades and nurturing love,

And crossing all the borders.

Nobody ever dares to tell me that my words hold no meaning.

Some want me to fear the looks they throw

But I am done with bleeding.

Still, I think about the poem and how I thought I knew the end.

Now I would rather be the bad actor

Than make someone else’s amends.

Some might find it cruel, some might find it very characteristic,

But no matter what they call it,

I deserve to be here even when I risk it.

-Jackie

Your Blue Waters Are Deeper Than Mine

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Photo by Naomi Berur

We hiss under our breaths on the dirty kitchen floor,

Throwing around some passive aggressive phrases,

And the ones you throw hurt much more.

I am not sure why I spilled the water or why you erased it,

All I know is that you swear you adore me,

Yet somehow you cannot face it.

Your sadness is a color of grey that makes me say “sorry”

Even when you break dishes and damage the faucet,

Even when you find my hurt boring.

Your blue waters allow you to say that you simply lost it.

If I ever lose my temper, you go silent until the morning,

Then hold my self-preservation hostage.

I see it clear as day, and it is you I am mourning

Because these days I am only a jewel for you to polish.

You tell me that my needs should come with a warning.

My chest does not lie, but feelings tend to vanish,

And after all the silent treatment and all the burning

Can you really say my indifference is outlandish?

The day is coming – I finally leave you for him.

You run around saying that I was banished,

But no one listens as you lose your breath and fourth limb.

So, watch your tongue before my heart gets famished,

Do not paint me as just another harlequin,

Do not drag me around like luggage,

And if you shoot for the heart, you better win.

-Jackie

Dehumanizer

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Photo by Lucas Pezeta

You call me venomous as you drift off to sleep,

But my poison only bleeds through my skin when I’m attacked.

You tied yourself around me and dragged me into the deep,

And I don’t think I ever got my bravery back.

You drift through these halls like a medieval ghoul,

Trying to convince me that the living made your bed.

You give each soul you know these tasks, then burn their tools,

And as a punishment you burn the city and the shed.

People hold your hands but you stare at the space,

Preaching silly little psalms about how we’re never free.

You tear down smiles until frowns freeze on faces.

I swear you’re not the one I met when I was twenty three.

-Jackie

Out Of Love

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Photo by Arın Turkay

It has been a few days since I murdered my mauve vertigo,

And all I have left is a pinch of disappointment.

I am falling out of love and I am not sure how to let you know.

Do I admit it now or treat it like an appointment?

In your head I am already the villain in a palace,

Laughing as blue-collar workers pass me by.

You cut every warm corner of me with pure malice,

But I am sure someone will give your faux story a try.

I almost forgot that I am not that difficult to cherish,

Yet you would have probably enjoyed my ego bursting open.

In ten years you will look back at everything we perished,

And I will not recognize your face, but you will still be hoping.

Do not think for a second that those mountains moved themselves.

I pushed them on my shoulders until my skin was raw.

Instead of loving people, you just put them on these shelves,

Polish them until they shatter in your razor-sharp claws.

It has been a few days since I let the flames lick my charred scars,

And I frown at the mere thought of you being mine.

I am falling out of love with you in smoke-filled city bars.

Will you even notice when I finally cross the line?

-Jackie

Begging Me

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Photo by Matheus Guimarães

It’s never a good idea to raise the dead, but a man must kill what he buries,

And since you buried us by the church, I’m done picking words like cherries.

I guess that’s alright, you just don’t have the time to reach out these days.

Hope you’re out there finding a younger fantasy to mold like fragile clay.

You know better than the rest what it feels like to sneak up on people like prey,

Go out of your way for years to build trust that’s easily smothered in a day.

You convinced me I was mean for questioning your righteous ways.

Now you tell your sleepy city that you weren’t even planning to stay.

Maybe I got it all wrong, maybe I should’ve paid more attention and money,

But I guess now we’ll never know, and I guess you’ll never find it all funny.

I’m just a buzzkill, just a stone you used to get closer to the grand prize.

I’m a wicked witch haunting people until they change up their old alibis.

You see, it’s not a good idea to raise the ones we put in black caskets.

The truth is knocking from the inside, and the curse is begging for me to cast it.

-Jackie