Tag: These City Streets Whisper My Name

A Thousand Little Fantasies

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Photo by Yura Forrat

In my city the stories keep writing themselves

While my dearest people change like the seasons.

The marigold leaves intrigue my senses,

And the faces I meet accuse me of treason.

The witch trials commence, but I’m a spectator.

I know that they will not relight that flame.

A thousand little fantasies blur my vision,

And I wish I could trap them all in a frame.

No, these streets will not let me capture the magic.

They glare at me as I write down these lines.

My city snaps necks of romantics and poets.

I avert my gaze and wonder why I’m alive.

The sun sets as it lets the moon out of its cage,

And the wooden church sings its ghostly tune.

A thousand little fantasies bleed into tales,

Turning my empty vessels deep maroon.

-Jackie

Things I’ll Never Say

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Photo by Tanya Gupta

I did it on purpose.

I did it to hurt us.

I fell like a feather,

Landed in your flames.

You took it slow,

You ran from the show.

You tripped over the rope

And broke all your shame.

I pulled you too close.

I starved your rose

And acted like an angel

As you hissed like a snake.

You bought my apology.

You signed your eulogy.

I would say “sorry”,

But it is getting late.

I did it on purpose.

I did it to hurt us.

I loved and I lost,

And I never found peace.

You thought I changed.

You gave me your change,

But I bit your fingers

To kill you like a disease.

-Jackie

Lighthouse In Flames

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Photo by Lucas Pezeta

Does the mirror on the ceiling reflect my own claws?

Are my eyes once again playing cruel tricks on me?

I am building a pile in the corner from knives and saws,

Hoping somebody stops me and calls it misandry.

But there is no one around to choke out my roaring flame.

It illuminates photos and memories until they burn.

I was a lighthouse for people who deserved only pain,

And I learned my lessons, so I guess now it is their turn.

Does the early morning fog resemble a sinner’s path?

Is my rage once again becoming the hero of my story?

Those who fooled me always mocked my rightful wrath,

Now they faint and call my tactics uncouth and gory.

They cannot kill me now or slay the god that they gave me.

It must hurt to see how I have chewed through their ropes.

I wonder if they truly thought that they could tame me,

I wonder if my punishment will wipe out that hope.

-Jackie

Unkillable

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Photo by Maria Eduarda Loura Magalhães

Honey, don’t cut the corners of my heartache just yet.

The white church has not even rung its bells this evening.

Don’t burn the wooden house, don’t bury the place we met.

All hope is not gone, I can still hear it breathing.

Honey, don’t take the anger out on my yellow roses.

The raven on the chimney is counting down your sins.

Don’t pinch your wounded ego, don’t split open their noses.

The city is still dreaming, I can feel it on my skin.

Honey, don’t pause for a second as you leave my room.

The wind licks my skylight, hoping to freeze your bones alive.

Don’t pray for the innocent, don’t count on my doom.

These city streets will make sure that I will survive.

-Jackie

Sleep Talking

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Photo by Alycia Fung

I wish I could have a dream vibrant enough that it numbs me,

But these city streets whisper my name, and I can’t sleep.

From the old school by my building to the grand sky above me,

The ghosts of these boulevards are bleeding out in my sheets.

People tell me I scream through my dreams from time to time,

And I put on a stoic face and tell them not to worry.

The falsely accused and the guilty want to steal what’s mine

While the humming churches spit out fog until I turn blurry.

Dark fantasies buzz around my head like a cloud of bees.

With each coming sunset their wings get sharper and sharper.

I keep begging the city for silence on my bruised knees,

But the grey man by the cemetery tells me to put on my armor.

I wish I could have a moment of freshly pressed loneliness.

I would stick out my tongue and let it fill my head with quiet.

Yet, the more I wish, the more these loud streets confess.

It is like they are sleep talking their way into a riot.

-Jackie

Perceptions

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Photo by Mariana Montrazi

Perceive me, receive me, deceive me.

I hate that you people can see me.

You love the new hair,

You love the jeans.

Are you being mean?

Why should I thank my genes?

Adore me, implore me, ignore me.

I hate that you people don’t bore me.

You ask for tips,

You shoot your blank stares.

Would you even care if I kissed you as a dare?

Undress me, caress me, repress me.

I hate that you all want to bless me.

You lower your gaze,

Then shoot a dozen arrows.

Shoot me down like a sparrow,

Sell my bone marrow.

-Jackie

Save The Innocent

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Photo by Alyona Stafeeva

When each corner of your comfort gets stripped of peace

And you are left with nothing but anxiety dreams,

Where do you look for a new home?

This land that I stand on feels like a sinking ship,

And I thought I had my city to hold with my fingertips,

But they are burning it down again.

Each coming day is a steppingstone that I must beat,

Yet somehow it feels like I am heading towards defeat.

The road to hell is just a ladder.

When the time comes, will the flames really spare me?

Will they save the innocent and kill the scary?

Please do not tell me the answer.

I still have my streets with their dirty parks and bridges,

And neighborhoods that do not crave the riches,

So maybe I have time.

As the street by the graveyard protects me from the reality,

I let the moonlight wash away my mortality.

Does anyone crave comfort anyway?

-Jackie

Epiphany

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Photo by Zulurid

As a cocktail of rain and leaves crash against the skylight,

This epiphany hits me in the chest and flees the room.

I have loved this city through two thousand silent twilights.

Why do I always associate your silence with doom?

The cobblestone streets and wooden houses consume me,

And they wrap me in fairytales that shall stay untold.

Why do I always try to reinvent the new me?

You have called me “enough”, painted it in rose gold.

I still remember how I chased real wonders by their tails.

Three years ago, I found my place and chose to stay.

For weeks I thought that you had cut open my sails,

But I had trapped the wrong wind and called it a day.

Now I preach love lessons like I do not cause messes,

And every corner of my neighborhood shimmers and gleams.

Your love is a blue night that sulks and confesses.

You are my resting place,

An empty corner of a dream.

-Jackie

Reasons To Go On

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Photo by Plato Terentev

The rainy boulevard gnashes its teeth,

Trying to bite off little pieces of my feet.

I sprint from side to side, fleeing its mouth,

And I attempt to take a different route,

But the cobblestone streets keep screaming,

Accusing me of being a demon.

I curse loud in a park with no one to hear.

They used to make piles out of bodies here.

My neighborhood grieves lost centuries,

Blood and flames turned into eulogies.

And then there is me and my excuses,

My pathetic escapism dressed as a muse.

The old churches look with cold judgement,

Turning away my pain and my torment.

Still, the unkept cemeteries tell me stories.

They tell me I can make it to my forties.

Every little corner speaks in my ear,

Offering protection when the death is near.

So, maybe I can find reasons to go on,

Face it like those before me and move on.

Maybe one more storm will brew before dawn.

Maybe I am just an unlucky pawn.

The rainy boulevard gnashes its teeth,

Trying to bite off little pieces of my feet.

-Jackie

The Witch Trials

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Photo by Rachel Claire

There is this urban legend about the hill by my house.

They say that back in the day they hanged witches up there.

I walk these city streets now and try to count the differences,

But there are not that many: the same stares, the same square.

Back then people talked until these two women perished.

Well, Anna and her sister simply got the short end of the stick.

I lean over the edge of the bridge by the graveyard

And I look down at the passing trains until I feel sick.

They say someone grew jealous over Anna’s sharp wit.

The rumors spread like wildfire; she did not have a chance.

She probably told judges the truth and they erased it,

And the gallows really did not care if you took a stance.

There is this old tale about the neighborhood I live in.

They say that one day someone furious will burn it all down.

Not like all those years ago when the great kings did it –

This time an angry woman will act like she has a crown.

So, I walk these city streets now, I avoid buying matches,

And I only burn my candles at night when they all rest.

Back then they put gallows on a hill and called it fairness,

But these days they skin us bare and call our souls blessed.

-Jackie