Tag: poetry

Quitting

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They say: “I wish you truly saw yourself and your worth.”

And no matter how I swear that I do, they remain deaf

When I respond – I’m not self-conscious, I’m just bored,

They say: “I wish you weren’t a perfectionist, that’s so destructive.”

Not a single day they’ve chased anything they believed in

But they’re teaching me how to be productive?

They say: “I have this big dream, brighter than yours, and I’ll make it work.”

No backbone, no life lessons, no time for my small successes.

But they’re always surprised that I listen to them with an obvious smirk.

They say: “I don’t have time right now but when I do, I’ll force myself back into your life as if your universe revolves around me. Doesn’t it? Please make time, not excuses.”

…

I was patiently waiting for the right time to speak up but no more.

There’s no friend in someone whose ego depends on digging open your bruises.

There’s no friend in someone who doesn’t hear when you refuse,

There’s no friend in someone who only abuses

When the time is right, when it’s perfectly fitting…

For months now I’ve been dreaming about quitting,

And I promised I won’t take up dreams without fully committing

So here we go.

-JW

Spineless

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Something in my glass tastes like misery and I wonder –

Maybe the green colored glasses have gotten under my skin.

All the lights are emerald, and maybe I’m the one you wanted?

Maybe I’m the missing safety pin?

***

Promises are cheap, betrayal is priceless –

Honey, I’ll never sell the stab wounds in my back.

(Ironic, of course, they came from someone who’s spineless.)

But my love for you was low-cost so I burned the almanac.

-JW

The Circle Game

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Oh, be careful reflecting your self-worth on me.

One second you’re editing me, the next you’re neck-deep, drowning in hate for yourself,

You no longer have the sense or the means to not be self-destructive,

and visibly

There’s something that needs to be reattached to your ego, but you’re sitting on your ice shelf.

Cold. Eager to watch me cramping in frozen waters.

I won’t though. You’re riding the high horse,

Sipping on insecurities which only makes it sadder,

Pretending I had it bad, but you’ve got it worse.

Be careful reflecting your self-worth on me.

I don’t appear in mirrored reflections of superficial surfaces,

and visibly

You’re upset I didn’t wait for you while the selfishness passes.

But I don’t write my poems for you. I write them for the masses.

-JW

Candy

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…Yet it becomes so apparent – when you meet the ones you’re so supposed to be with,

the ones you were looking for all along,

the ones you sought since the day you first felt cold…

And they will not think it over.

They will sit still through the storms.

But isn’t it funny…

The evident is always a little hidden in the truth.

During the best of times so many will put up a fight trying to convince you – they’re the ones you’ve lost.

Yet – you’ve known for too long to chase these fake tales of greedy love.

Because the ones you’re seeking don’t leave when it’s messy. They know you’re messy.

Once you find them

it is always just so apparent.

…

-JW

Fine

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Picking up the pieces after I exploded with rage wasn’t the hardest part.

It was more difficult to promise I’ll love you till death do us part.

I wouldn’t promise my endless, undying devotion to anyone, rest assured,

But you bent my neck so sharply I couldn’t breathe, and I felt cured.

Sewing my severed pieces together from scratch wasn’t annoying.

Boys will be boys; and it happened to be me, entering in the midst of them toying.

I wouldn’t forgive the scars on my pale, cold skin, yet I would forgive you –

It just seems better when he’s the one who harms, and also the one you screw.

Stitching my freshly spilled brain together from the bathroom walls is fine.

How come he was so patient? I had one drink too many. Or maybe nine?

I wouldn’t be alive today if he didn’t give me that steady push with a fist.

As soon as I saw red in my hair I knew I’ve made it into the naughty list.

It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I’ll take the risk.

-JW

619

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Mad at my friends, in love with the freedom.

Fallen deep into the eyes of a beautiful weirdo.

But maybe we’re strangers now? Maybe it’s equal?

The lust, the loathing… And now we’re at zero?

We dance two steps back, one inch forward.

My family calls but I can’t come over.

Too busy figuring out the difference between love and disorder.

Truth rains in drops but it feels like a shower.

-JW

Polygraph

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Stay. The polygraph is not painting the picture right.

I want to be in your arms. I’m not afraid of the height.

Crashing towards the asphalt, falling.

Hoping to see you down there. It’s appalling.

The fear is tearing a hole in my being but it’s deceiving.

I can’t leave you alone this evening.

Do you see through me that clearly? Is it a vision?

I’ve taken a feeling and made it into a prison.

The aluminum breathes on my limp body when I’m frightened.

Yet – whenever you call, this cage feels a million pounds lighter.

Stay. The charts are inaccurate. My chained heart made them.

Now it’s free to go, and I’m not asking for it to pay rent.

-JW

Tinseltown

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A-listers with bleached morals and dead eyes –

They munch on diamonds while I’m forced to eat led pies.

Lies. Sabotage. Saying I’m a carbon copy.

The next I know – he wants to make me into a trophy.

Is this the place losers are produced and turned into stars?

The slower they age, the faster they drive their cars.

Fake condolences mixed with beauty tips from the rotten.

Everyone without a dollar to their name trying to get their shot in.

“Hollywood infected your brain,” Marina sang in the rain.

It also spread through the bodies of many, even the sane.

But tinsels don’t cast a reflection in the darkest place.

Fabricated ideals remain untrue, even if manufactured in lace.

–JW

The Last Of My Standards

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A spritz of the spring touched my heated thoughts today.

A spur of the moment decision. I’m fleeing this town.

Tell your brother I said “hey”.

This weather brings back the skeletons I’d rather keep burnt.

The sweater I’m wearing can’t hold my self-pity again.

God, pass me another urn.

No space left to dig a grave for the next obsession gone awry.

No scales grand enough to weigh my remorse.

This won’t end alright.

These warm spring evenings are stealing the last of my standards.

The swarm of wasps filled with toxic love promises awake,

I’m gulping them down just like salamanders.

-JW

August Days

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Finger painting my own reflection, deflecting.

A voice is calling me but I find it vexing.

Palms covered in sparkles as temperature raises.

I’ve survived burns, I’ve survived blazes

But somehow this moment pierces my skin.

Do I fit the box that they put me in?

Colors on colors pour down my neck, down my back.

When I turn to look, it’s once again painted black.

Cryptic signs appear in the mirrors as I lay dying…

I’ll never get the picture just right, there’s no denying.

–JW