Tag: relationship

Whatever Rhymes

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We’re all raised with these naïve ideas of our identities but we don’t know,

We sing along to whatever rhymes and when it doesn’t, we amplify the audio.

“You’re not the bad day in your story, you’re not even the narrator.

You’re neither the background noise nor the all-knowing, sad traitor.”

This is how we’re guided through earlier years, believing it’s all there is –

Why wouldn’t it be, if it makes so much sense and makes our lives muy feliz?

The faster we grow, the harder it gets to find truth in those poorly written tales,

And with every piece of faith we breathe in, there are seven parts of us that exhale.

“You’re not the worst day in your story, you’re not even the almighty narrator.

You’re neither the background cacophony, don’t be a goddamn traitor!”

The more they repeat, the quicker you reason your way out of their crossroads,

And once the spell’s broken, the princes turn back into the ancient swamp toads.

But don’t be ashamed or worried – we’re all raised on these old world remedies.

We’re safe as long as it seems to a passerby that we’re still on our knees.

-JW

Deo

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Tie me down tightly the next time I try to claw my irises out.

The lights are acidic, music is pale and I don’t make myself proud.

Lie to me before you let the rope touch my infected neck –

And remember the hand they’ve given me came from a defective deck.

Don’t trust my cool when I approach the window so slowly.

Dearest, please, hold me back roughly, like you owe me,

Chain my feet to a block of static, mellow memories.

After all, we built this house from second-hand gossip and prophecies.

It’s time to let it slide through the fingers, let it dissolve.

And maybe, just maybe, saying goodbye will let it evolve.

So wrap the leash tighter but don’t let me look away.

The walls we built have to crumble right before my eyes

To make sure I obey.

-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

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

Neon Blues

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Met you in an empty beach, so lonely and dry, it resembled a deserted island.

Took you for a walk through the greenest of forests, through waters of diamond,

I made the fields of flowers bloom for your green eyes, but they cut me deep

When your smirk pushed me down a hill so dangerously steep.

Met you in the lowest of trenches, Marianas couldn’t stand a chance –

The darkness was pushing my head against the metal, death and I had this dance

Where she took a step to the left, and I went in for a kiss like it’s nothing.

Somehow she always missed the veins but her rejections was awfully cutting.

Met you in the coldest of winters. Love, it’s still freezing, my bones are brittle.

I’ve stood for months in this weather when I promised – I’d stay just a little.

My hands have gone numb, my vision is blurry, and I cannot follow your voice

As you refused to speak when my blood froze – like I had a choice.

Met you in a ball, so crowded and loud. The air was heavy from my lustful breath.

You were dressed in white, and when you saw me – you acted as we’ve never met.

The candlelight spilled all over my shoulders and turned my anger neon blue.

Why do you keep building worlds where we’re only strangers

When it’s always been just about you?

-JW

The Tale. In its entirety.

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The way you look at lips gets me suspicious but, I promise, I won’t judge

When you’re on the porch, asking for my forgiveness as your wife still holds a grudge.

I assume you didn’t tell the tale in its entirety either.

Only some bits. Only some pieces. You were never a bleeder,

Always the one leaving scratchless, without a wound to your honor.

The second sharp words are thrown, oh baby, you’re a goner.

Your face could heal a hundred scars if you didn’t sell it out to every fool

Who feeds on broken hearts. But I’m not surprised when you’re a tool

To all of them – who can play it cool. They know better, they don’t just drool

Over their cheap glass promises – that are also deemed as priceless.

What happened? Why did you leave broke and diceless?

I’m a daydream turning into a nightmare right before your eyes

Wish I could give you a warning about how being a jerk might hurt a bit.

Sorry, I didn’t leave a light on for you – but not like you’re not used to taking a hit.

Sorry, I can’t hide you from the tentacles of truth anymore. I don’t want to.

Hope there’s someone else buying into your auctions, and your cheap ass tattoo.

Don’t take it wrong – my apologies mean nothing, and I learned it from you trying

To pull a truth out of a magician’s hat filled with dead rabbits and your fake crying.

-JW

The Three Half-Truths

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Anger is never a loud clamor covered in a cast iron case–

It’s a lot of dissonance trapped in a narrow space.

An Olympic arena filled with control freaks

Or people who followed because they could not sleep.

It’s always been about how you tell a story, not about how you live it.

Three sour half-truths make poisonous decoy a gimmick.

Give or take, the fog is raising and building a cruel circus –

You know too much when I’ve barely scratched the surface.

***

We know each other through shiny shower heads and hotel parking lots,

And we know that neither of us is the breadwinner type when coming up with devious plots.

My bloodline branded you as one that has a wondering eye, no Lasik,

And your wife would agree when you touch my thighs, so pervasive.

I’m too weary to concentrate on those calling me a schemer or escort,

Too tired of senseless forgiveness about taking it one step too short.

All I want is your hand in mine but what I get is risible ire,

An irritating need to keep you as my wonderful, wonderful desire

Whilst the world goes more haywire.

-JW

A Hearse

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My arms are twisted from the heaviness of your lust.

Without your stare on my neck the world seems unjust.

I don’t want you. You make me worse. You’re my hearse.

But your passion for violence feels like a blessing

And not a curse.

We’re both trying to swim in this hurricane that is raging up north.

At the end, what will it all be worth?

Is this another tale where I was a fix up for an unruly mind?

Is this a contract that we both signed to get fined –

So I could crush my ego, and you could throw out your principles

To feel less invincible?

Less cynical?

Let’s not pretend we can make it alone. And let’s not be naïve –

If we hold on to each other for a moment or less,

We will slice one another in order to aggrieve –

To inflict more pain than necessary, to commit atrocities

Just to later heal the bruises with some sumptuosity.

***

I guess this is destiny. Never believed in one, never will,

But looking at you makes me feel like there’s no time to kill.

Be still, my beating heart. Be still.

-JW

Every 5 minutes

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Every 5 minutes I save your inanity with my insanity in the making,

Every other morning I hate your profanities – as they are backbreaking.

Your dull words with their made up sanctity force my lips to become abrasive.

Should I let you go or keep fissioning while I pretend to embrace it?

What comes next is never a given with you, and it frightens me fiercely.

The next time your bright eyes darken, should I count your shots and wait out the first three?

Should I lay low or shoot back, or fall deeper?

I am not the one to admit the victory of the reaper.

But my personal little deaths always looked like your face.

It’s at the finish line of every track, of every race.

Could have sworn – no one ever told me about the truths you face

Looking for someone to chase at your own pace.

Even 5 years ago I was ready to conquer my two star town for the title,

Even people I barely knew viewed my mind as a funny farm or a spital.

My insides were filled with flammable liquids but I got used to drowning.

Should I spit out the flames now or should I try putting them out

with all the drinks that I’m downing?

You would know the answer to that, love, wouldn’t you?

How come the worst of my demons is the one that is true?

I am not the one to deny that my pride is a fallen virtue.

So why does every time you step on it feel less like a torture

And more like a comically tragic ending to the heroine

Whose emancipation narrators rooted for but they could not fit it in?

***

Every 5 minutes I save my insanity with you mortality in the making,

Every other morning I still love your lethalities – as they are breathtaking.

-JW