Tag: social commentary

Intrusions

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Mascara running into my dark circles, charcoal.

Under my foggy soul there is an equidistant hole

To a different part of the path I’ve taken in past

Wishing that temporary things were meant to last,

And I was a different person when I promised

To play it safe when times become too honest.

Not a bitter tear of regret running down my cheeks

Because fear is how lion seeks out the hurt and weak.

Who knew I was never broken, it was an illusion –

A million little moments aligned, masked as intrusions.

I’m crying unflattering drops in a loose tank top

Hoping our daughters don’t have to run in a hamster wheel

Of beauty standards that flop

Faster than they can be stopped.

-JW

Kittens

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Someone pointed it out passing by and I cannot shake the disgust

Of what the men following my scared scent were dying to discuss.

Oh, is the skirt too short and buttons too loose for your expensive taste?

“Such a pretty face, too bad all that make up and attitude makes it a waste.”

It’s not the first time this week I’m hearing this centuries old, morbid story,

And I’m not in my teens so I should take it easy and perhaps, just maybe, be sorry?

What a compliment though, their eyes and cars keep following wherever you go

Hence it shouldn’t be a problem, and even if it was – how would you know?

“You’re a lady after all, stop acting like you don’t enjoy being approached

With a bit of flirt, even if it’s scaring you – don’t yell, don’t bring the reproach.”

Keep your mind open if it’s disturbing, some kittens will be drowned in the making

But you can only change culture of power plays and toxic overtaking

If you don’t confuse it with innocent romance-baiting.

Berate all you want, but it’s still your beasts who deserve crating.

-JW

Picture Perfect

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Shattering circus mirrors on grey streets, my boots punching straight through them.

Setting fire to another pastel advert asking “us ladies to starve and lose ‘em”.

You cannot blow up the crooked system telling you how to be happy dying

But you can bite its head off trying to hear how the filtered buzz is lying.

The feathers of poorly made starlet costumes flying off as I tear them open –

If we’re exploring what beauty means, let’s also show the parts that are broken.

There are no friends in ecosystems built out of denying every human emotion,

Made out of caricatures of people who only stay young by staying in motion.

“Another pound gained means another rumour that her husband doesn’t love her –

We didn’t write the rules, it’s her fault she kept thriving when others ran for cover.”

What is this obsession of being camera ready and acting the part as well?

Your life is not up for an Oscar so stop reaching for the poisoned wishing well,

And your lungs are designed to scream not to swallow every shallow remark –

Lovely, please, dig a hole in the dust to bury the voice that haunts you

And leave the grave unmarked.

-JW

“Hard To Work With”

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Always threatened to meet my maker if I disobey –

If my smile isn’t wide enough, I have to pay.

If my sleeves are too short, I become the prey.

The world must be someone else’s oyster because to me

It’s another circle in a groundhog day.

Always scared to be left scarred or for the dead –

If I ever talk back, they might crush my head.

If I have some pride, they call me featherbed.

But they can’t stop, I need to be taught a lesson

No matter how much I’ve already bled.

Always scrutinized for not being cautious all the way –

If you get annoyed by my attitude, I don’t get a say.

If you think I’m pretty, I must keep your affection at bay.

And I pray, and I pray, and I pray that there comes a time

Where my experience is not underplayed

So I don’t have to put “hard to work with” on my resume.

-JW

Covering The Petals

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Running for your life is not good enough, go faster, over the speed limit.

Ruining everything sacred in this looped fantasy of yours taught me to skim it

But never showed me how to sit through a storm with my blinders shut.

Your neck twisting around mine, pulling away, and we’re stuck in this rut.

“Life has no meaning,” they say, “if you waste it trusting your own guts and bones.”

“It has no meaning,” they repeat, “if you share love through cables and telephones.”

But it’s not easy to follow someone playing god with menacing conviction.

It’s hard to walk down the road of not being able to tell apart fact from fiction.

I keep bleeding on the razor’s edge, fingers all cut up from pretending I’m fine.

I leap forward and rock back, knowing too well that they’re approaching from behind.

But the mountains echo my pleas for safe escape and I see dew covering the petals.

The melody goes silent as I escape this dead-end of dead eyed people

Giving souls out as rentals.

-JW

Iron Boots

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Forceful interrogation tactics greedily pushed on fragile necks.

Overturned rules pawing their ways to palaces built out of gloomy wrecks.

No monster frightening enough to make me look back at the fear.

I’m not putting my head down for you, I’m tired of speeches so insincere.

Pressure me all around the clock, dig me some ditches and holes.

You’re still the one who compensates just to feed the moles.

The water you fed me was poison but why would you bat an eye.

You’d rather ignore the pain you cause and scream at the man in the sky.

I’m tired of seeing your filthy paws reaching for the promised glory.

While you’re building skyscrapers, I’m glad I reached the second storey.

So I’m keeping my head up despite you stepping on it with iron boots,

And if you decide not to shoot, we both might see the day when our spite

Turned damaged flowers into fruits.

-JW

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

Blood Is (Not) Thicker

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As cold as these memories are, I’ll try torching them nonetheless.

The rose tattoo on my shoulder is freezing, the shakes are becoming effortless.

The marrow in the bones is long gone, my hunger doesn’t stand a chance.

And I’m sorry that I’m so damn spoiled – I tried to warn you in advance.

I see troops marching with the machines, gathering their accolades.

My tongue – twisting in an endless loop, seeking words to dull the blades.

It is never easy to lose the one you looked for to a petty act of vengeance.

Why in our twenties we’re acting like we owe respect to ancestors

And also – descendants?

It’s good to have pride but how much honor can each generation carry?

Every step hurts the parents, every misstep – kids; cheeks burning redder than sweetest cherries.

As scary as it is to leave the past behind and future ahead, I will take my chances.

Surviving from second to second, trusting my mind, not my blood-addicted senses.

-JW

Dusty Gravestones

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I’m also refusing your lesson and vivid banner calling me to safety.

No harm done, take it easy, but how do you cope with days so hazy?

Don’t be fooled, no one should come down the path I’m pawing

But of all the souls out there, mine is the least deserving of saving.

When your reputation has nowhere higher to go, please take a seat.

You can’t carry the pain of someone crushed by the fangs of defeat,

You can’t ask a kid to outrun the future that’s barely promised

And I’m not being pessimistic, I’m just asking for you to be honest.

When there’s nothing to teach, how can you reach for the ceiling?

When the world is crumbling in full force, how is it healing –

To mention that there are better days ahead,

And our way is for the dead…

Is it really true that graveyards call us only when the neon needs to be fed?

I don’t think so, however, there is a revolution of hope to be lead.

Let’s promise ourselves another day at a time, despite all that’s been said.

For the pursuit of true empathy, I will be willing to lay my head.

-JW

Phrases

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“Can you tell me where it hurts and point me to the nearest exit?”

“Resilience is overrated in the promise land of Jokers who flex it

And your bruises are due already, pay up or leave the city.”

“Why bother leading the path if you could just look pretty?”

…

“Stand up and straighten your shoulders, baby, don’t be moody,

You’re not the next Marilyn in a black and white movie.”

“What’s up with the lipstick, don’t you want to go brighter?”

“I’m down for the fright but I’m not a real fighter.”

…

“Put a smile on that face, don’t you dare to make a scene!”

”You can only afford to be either sexy or perfectly lean.”

“What’s up with the jumpers, mate, are you finally expecting?”

“Please don’t drink and drive while you’re also texting.”

I hope you don’t find me writing down your innuendos vexing.

(Stop playing god, your moral’s perplexing.)

-JW