Tag: self growth

Mugs

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The tea is warm, and my voice jumps an octave higher.

I spit out the words; they fall on the floor.

Face flushing, breath getting out of control.

You stump on my pieces and you ask me for more.

I was confused at first, lost a year to dead ends.

My body came apart at the seams each night.

Even friends told me I should stop crying wolf,

Even books asked me if I thought I was right.

You had your time exploring, picking at my brain,

Making sure I stayed busy while you observed.

When the nagging feeling escaped from my lips,

You took less than a moment to call me absurd.

Your first mistake was choosing me as a target,

Your second mistake was leaving footprints on graves,

Your third mistake was making yourself a martyr,

Your fourth mistake was thinking I don’t play games.

The tea is cold, and my voice stays cool and low.

I let the words roll off my tongue and I watch you.

Face flushing, breath shaking, no hint of a smirk.

Don’t you beg for comfort,

Don’t you ask for rescue.

-Jackie

The Emptiness

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I’m looking for the thing that will make me feel hopeful –

I don’t need a lot, don’t need the social or the noble.

Some thrown out fantasies will keep me grounded

Because nothing satisfies the thirst, it can’t be rounded.

Don’t tell me to pray or to call my ancestors –

I’ve seen enough circus acts where kings play the jesters,

And I don’t get along with anyone who I should prefer

Because spirit lifts higher than blood, mark my words.

“Don’t throw away the guard

For someone you should adore.”

We’re all petty cheaters playing this over and over,

And we don’t get over it because we weren’t offered a shoulder.

Seeing these games rolling doesn’t make me more hopeful

But I’m not looking for locals, for social, for something noble.

I’m seeking that one thing that makes it all make sense

But I’m scared it was always just over the next broken fence,

Something taken away by a coincidence.

-JW

Through My Thunders

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Wish I could encapsulate you standing there in your Rolling Stones t-shirt.

When I look at you in dim mornings, I’m glad I never became a preacher.

But you’re still sacred, even though god and I – we’re done with discussions.

It’s a warzone driven by blackmail and terror because I dared to ask questions.

Wish there was a way to absorb you with my skin, wish touch wasn’t the limit.

There’s no surprise that the way you shine is mistaken for a cheap gimmick.

But you’re still worthy, even if banks have banned my face for the third time.

I walk the road covered in bankruptcies and negotiations of whether you’re a crime.

Wish someone could cure you of the spell that’s making you act this brave.

Whenever the rest is giving up, you come up with ways to nurture and save.

But you’re still dirty, covered in untreated calluses from yesterday’s wonders.

It’s a path designed by the rich or the lunatics to survive through your thunders,

But I’ll pull through. We’ll cross out the days and forget the numbers.

-JW

Lighting Flashes

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Steeper by the second, it’s growing steeper.

You’re in pain just to be your brother’s keeper.

Sandcastles built on concrete, I cannot oppose –

You build unstable structures

Always ready to explode,

Always crowded with ghosts.

It’s faster each moment, it’s getting out of hand.

Can you build steady hope out of grains of sand?

The hill has no mercy, we’re both so alike.

I have nothing to say

But they’re attaching the mic.

Lower with time, my spirit is being lowered.

The third pit of hell refused to be overpowered.

My left eye is seeking God, it can’t be right.

Before the lighting flashes

I’m thrown back into the night.

-JW

Wager

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Building oceans out of used duct tape rolls,

Hiding the motions while it’s taking a toll –

The chemistry’s fake and we’re caught blinded.

Five years ago I thought we’re like-minded.

But people change morals and wind changes heart.

I chose to go silent and you chose to go dark.

Won’t call you arch nemesis or even a stranger,

Yet the money I put on you –

I’d never again repeat that wager.

-JW

Writer’s Battle Cry

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I cannot fall asleep before I’ve created another one of these part-time sentence sketches.

The grey clouds are forming a cradle but I refuse to enter. Too far from static and background retches.

Some acidic light spills on my spine, it makes me live through it all again, pulsating,

But it barely rings a bell anymore. I tied a rock to this wraith and sunk it by tirelessly creating.

I cannot sleep before I know that I’ve saved another day by being drained, not going down the drain,

And if you asked five years ago, I would’ve declared this sanctuary insane,

Maybe changed my name to Jane.

So here I stand, alone in the dust bowl of traumas that made me, of black bat licorice spat in my direction,

Cascading through shallow storms, calming my insomniac mind with bad rhymes, trusting your discretion.

-JW

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

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

Buzzkill

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My father will never call me back again but I don’t mind.

Three years stuck in an infinite loop, butchered by my own emotions.

Feeling less than human. My demons were aligned.

I’m done gulping cheap flavors from shallow glasses like they’re potions.

I’m done being defined.

My father will never call me back again but it’s not my fault.

All that matters are people who will pick up the phone when it’s unpleasant.

It might be late or it might be inconvenient, yet they dare to open that vault

Without being compromised by the front that I present –

And it changes, but they stay through the halt.

My father will never call me back again, and sun rises at the east.

Accepting our truths does not mean we’re giving in. We’re far ahead.

Never in my life have I felt less lonely – look at all the weapons I’ve seized,

Built by my destructive heart that wished I was already dead…

Living is not a walk in the park, it’s a feast.

I will never pick up when my father calls. Let him choke on the ringtones and words never said.

-JW

Misdeeds

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Walking away from something you’ve broken entirely is human nature.

Hiding your brutality and violence into the bruises of another creature –

That’s how the best of us become preachers.

I don’t believe it’s just.

I cannot step away from a disaster even when it’s not mine, even when I must.

My first instinct is always taking away the knife and the gun from the person I trust,

Then torturing myself with them as if nothing happened – until they turn away in disgust.

How do you walk away from a damaged soul? How do you let it bleed?

I’ve slept on the cold, hard floor in order for you all to get some sleep.

Never been able to turn my back. I will take over the pain and lead.

I will finally accede to the fact that I’ve taken it too far when my knees become weak,

Yet you can stand up again, and that fulfills my greed.

Is this a virtue or another misdeed?

-JW