Tag: self reflection

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

People Pleaser

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If it’s not yet my problem,

I’ll ensure it becomes one.

If the grave is still empty,

I’ll fetch my newest shotgun.

Give me names and two roses,

Give me thornes and forgiveness.

My nose grows in my sleep

While being stuck in your business.

I lie just to keep swimming,

To keep winning these trophies.

I know I made this bed tidy.

Baby, I made it for me.

I’ll take breath to my coffin,

But I’ll refuse to scream.

Baby, didn’t they tell you?

People pleasers don’t dream.

-Jackie

Miss Neon Light

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Photo by Maria Eduarda Tavares from Pexels

The design is perfect but something is leaning off-centre,

Nobody seems to care, they keep preaching so gentle.

I just want to hold your hand one last time, before it goes.

Many elbows in my back pushing towards the midnight show.

Can I cry on the stage and make everyone oblivious

To how I’m barely hanging in there by my resilience?

Will the weight be lifted or will it never let me exhale?

Is this a nightmare turned into a Hollywood fairytale?

My eyes shoot every scene but I can’t make them focus

As I drift away to neon lit graveyards and locals.

The pattern is flawless but the story still sounds offbeat.

No one seems to notice until you’re the one burning alive

While they’re escaping the heat.

-JW

Through My Thunders

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Photo by Maria Eduarda Tavares from Pexels

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

Clockwise

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Living on the edge of an astronomical clock turning backwards.

The time isn’t real, nor is the space – we’re simply bad actors.

Leaping through the worst past and present can offer, spinning

Back into my oblivion patched with torn memories, singing,

Re-enacting old scenes while the hour hand’s draining me to the bone.

Might feel obscene to these petty people living in their heads

All alone.

But I go up the minute hand, I chase the escape wheel and fall –

Hanging in the flow of the time by a blue thread, dirty and small.

Jumping after each palm reached out to me but I’m somehow missing.

My spine is rubbing into another manipulated reason to stop hissing

And get back to giving all my warm blankets to those who bow

So low to see the last inch of hope leaving the body I liked years back

But now barely know.

I cling to the second hand, almost being ripped in two by the heat.

The change of algorithm is washing my brain of sins and of greed.

Running up the hill of no escape, right up to the promised rope –

You might think I’ll make a noose but by know you must know

I’m not a trope

And I’d rather tie the ends together to keep my own brain intact

Than give you another graveyard fairy-tale of a ghoul eating the hero of my favorite tale

In the second act.

-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

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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Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger from Pexels

…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

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

Hypocrite

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Sorry I called you a stranger last night without meaning it.

Quite weird how we don’t allow our loved ones to change even slightly.

The second they do – we quit.

But I do apologize for growing apart, even though I was thinking

That we’re birds of a feather, flying in the same direction –

So I took off without blinking.

I crash landed in the next empty field, no sight of you, just dirt.

For a moment I did believe you got lost chasing…

After weeks of silence I stopped waiting on you to revert.

Then, four months later, in an empty hallway your eyes meet mine.

Such a happy moment, you’re there but somehow not smiling.

I realized you’ve lost your spine.

Ran into you a couple more times. Your stare so blank, I wondered –

Maybe I’ve become see-through, and this is afterlife?

Maybe I should close my eyes and count to one hundred?

It’s been a while and I still see your face in my dreams, I do.

It’s painful and wonderful, and I want to hold on…

When I wake up – still no signs of life. No signs of you.

Sorry I called you a stranger last night without meaning it.

You could’ve called me back then. You still have my number.

You goddamn hypocrite.

-JW