Tag: writer

Peace

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Photo by Nestor Varela

I don’t have any conflict to resolve with these words

And I don’t have a plan for forging myself a new sword.

I’ve been longing and waiting for a moment like this.

Peace within my own skin is what I’ve dearly missed.

My petty self holds no weapons up her grandiose sleeves.

If you look close enough, you won’t notice fresh schemes.

It’s been a minute or two since I’ve exhaled just air

Instead of spewing dark flames with a splash of despair.

The anger tried to wrap its hands around my fragile neck,

Taking me through some alleys that I deeply regret.

Now I don’t have any conflict to resolve in these lines,

And the scars will get paler, but only with time.

-Jackie

That Fever Dream

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Photo by Mariana Ayumi

I was just sixteen when that fever dream started,

And I had to leave thinking that I got outsmarted.

Each time I tried to give the dream another shot,

I left wishing I could tie my whole heart in a knot.

A decade flew by, but time froze in some places.

I chased someone who could slow down my pace.

Every single soul I found made me question myself

Until I stopped renting out my mental health.

On the surface nobody even noticed the change,

Only a few saw the grey teardrops on the last page.

Perhaps it is not bad to stop seeking complexity,

All it ever did for me was kill what was meant to be.

And maybe this next story will be a better tale,

Maybe my own heart will not get broken over mail.

At least it does not feel like a fever dream today,

One small step for my younger self,

Still high on dismay.

-Jackie

Breezes

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Photo by _ Harvey

The salty breeze washes away the bitter feeling on my tongue,

And I try to trap the freedom the wind breathes in a jar.

My pain bleeds into the sand, but I can only stand and watch 

As my youth cries sour tears while watching from a far.

The grey fog covers my shoulders in questions still unasked.

One day the clear sky will slice me into bits and pieces.

The sea chews at my feet, trying to swallow me whole,

But the shallows keep me safe between sentiment and breezes.

-Jackie

Silent Weapons And Glowing Scars

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Photo by Vladimir Konoplev

I will show you my scars if you try to ask nicely

And I will tell you how to break or entice me.

Turn off the lights and see the glowing bruises.

Silent treatment was his favorite weapon to use.

No, it does not hurt, but is still does haunt me,

The venomous jokes and nicely done taunting.

He was one of the good ones until he was not.

This is now my hell, and all I do here is rot.

I could use a friend, I could use a new lover.

I could hug my cold skin under the covers.

I will tell you where the ink turns into blood

And I will show you how to drag a name

Right through the mud.

-Jackie

No Truces

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Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva

It seemed like a hopeful story only as long as I loved you more than I despised you,

And you seemed like a brighter person when you listened,

But now greed and cruel intentions guide you.

Everyone you pull close keeps walking away, so you never give too much affection.

I wonder if you know that you starved me

Because you cannot even face your own reflection.

You have the time to spare for every stranger and you pretend to give true kindness

Just before you slap me with cold phrases,

Then demand I treat you like a royal highness.

I was sure your self-image was suffering greatly, but was it ever truly the case?

The control, the avoidance, the superiority…

Now I wonder about what it was that I tried to chase.

It seemed like a better movie back when I cared enough to suggest a few truces.

All you have left now is a great white silence

And a few dozen broken and bent excuses.

-Jackie

They Don’t Have That Power Anymore

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Photo by Dave Morgan

Step one:

Let them bruise your pride, let them bite your brittle skin

So that they think you will follow them straight into the fire.

Step two:

Get up graciously and let them know that you feel thankful

For teaching you the lesson of obedience for hire.

Step three:

Treat your red wounds until your rage runs your body

And turn into the person that they most admire.

Step four:

Let them think that they have you all tied up and loving.

Do not show them that the hand they’ve been dealt is dire.

Step five:

When they let their walls down, strike them in their chest.

Puncture their lungs like some old and useless tires.

Step six:

As they beg you not to leave, give them the last hope,

Then change your mind and tell them you’re finally tired.

Step seven:

Do not look at your phone, do not even touch it.

The apologies and curses might make you feel desired.

Step eight:

They will turn you into the villain of their path,

But these narratives are way too plain and retired.

Step nine:

Regain strength, they don’t have your power anymore.

They don’t get to be your truth and your only liar.

Step ten:

Greet your friends as they knock on your new door.

Let safe love warm you up like a calm bonfire.

-Jackie

One Two Three

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Photo by bigworldinalens

These stories about us keep popping up on my screens,

And I do not want to believe that they might be real.

Not again, not anymore.

Not me crying on the floor.

You could not find a way out, so you shot right through,

Leaving a wound in my head that is black and blue…

And for what?

Just to spite me?

Do not say that you cannot despise me.

When I was happy, you disguised me

Like being content is an indicator of some disease.

You made a pact with your mouth to never give me peace.

The most painful loves must come in threes

Because I do not want to hear from you,

Do not want to reinvent myself anew.

These stories about us keep popping up on my screens,

And I know I will make it out as long as I scream.

-Jackie

Revenge Fantasies

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Photo by Enes Ersahin

I execute these little plans in my head until I hear my skull bleeding,

Until a thick, red substance fills my ears and my nose,

Until I can only dream about seeing.

But I guess revenge needs me to buy out all the rows?

I fear that without these plots my life will lose all meaning.

I do not really want to break these rocks I throw –

Perhaps it is just a phase, just the process of healing.

Still, I tend to share more than I actually know,

And people see me as this ripe fruit that needs some peeling.

I fly through the sky, then eat dirt when I’m low.

I want to learn where I get all of these feelings.

My consciousness is pure, even whiter than snow

Despite the looming ghosts from my past cutting my helix.

One for the money, two for the show.

My anger never dies, it rises like a red phoenix.

So, I keep on scheming until I lose my pride and glow,

Until nobody even dares to ask why I’m bleeding.

Tomorrow is not promised, but it’s dripped in Bordeaux,

And I fear that without these plots mu life will lose meaning.

-Jackie

Elated

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Photo by Trarete

I try to collect the storylines that I lost,

But my path to joy was rocky and deflated.

No matter the sadness, no matter the cost,

All I wanted was to finally see you elated.

You punished me with roaring silent treatment

As my tears turned into glimmering razors.

I wasn’t a saint, but I wasn’t the demon.

You didn’t have to efface me with an eraser.

-Jackie

The Maze

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Photo by ZHANNA TIKHONOVA Tt

The bathroom mirror bends my waist in half

And it’s the only friend I’ve got when I’m wasted.

I starved myself of joy for reckless beings.

Now I’m a wreck too, and I hate it.

Yes, I hate it.

People accuse me of cruel phrases,

Saying hurt is just a phase I will sweat out.

But being unlovable is like a maze –

The deeper you go, the more you change route.

You cannot get out.

-Jackie