Sixteen Floors High

Photo by David Skyrius from Pexels

I hope all the men I never forgave can forgive themselves one day –

Because I won’t, because I can’t,

The gods of peace aren’t answering my prayers.

I hope that all those men take back what they gave me –

An ego that’s sixteen floors high

With nobody on the ground to save me,

Just a crowd watching, dreaming up an alibi.

No, I don’t hold onto grudges, I use them as stones to throw.

My will was stolen as a joke,

Now I parade it in a cage like a wild animal during a show,

Hoping all those men choke.

I might sound angry to you,

Go ahead and assume the worst of me.

Some men stole my sky and painted me cobalt blue,

Now I watch birds fall and die in agony.

So, I hope all the men I could never excuse

Find their own way to accept that they are now my muse.

Let my ink drip on their skin like an unwarranted touch.

Permission is never welcome,

I’ve learned that much.

-JW

On My Own Accord

Photo by Mikhail Nilov from Pexels

Take back the gifts and your filthy excuses,

Don’t count me in when you’re counting on your muses.

They say men like you never face the music,

But I wonder if you’ve learned just how short my fuse is.

Take back the epithets and idioms you used,

Whisper my name in your nightmares as you look for clues.

My knees aren’t broken, they’re lightly bruised,

And I’m guessing you thought I’d be a softer fool.

Take back the lustful stares and the touches,

I’ll never think about you when my blood rushes.

Well, that’s a lie, I spew fire and it catches,

I could fill a stadium with the sound of your shushes.

Take back your threats and sharpened words.

If you want to fight me, don’t do it with swords.

My tongue can take out men leading your overlords,

So, I’m guessing that you know by now –

I’m taking it all back on my own accord.

-JW