J Grey

J Grey's poems

[jayygrey]

364

    Clara sipped her hot coffee, the kind of cheap coffee that tastes stale as soon as you get it. She savored her beverage as she shuffled down the sidewalk. Her new job required an elongated walk; she couldn't afford to commute. She felt like the corporate zombie she resembled, her brain a foggy mess.

    She lurched into the lobby, avoiding eye contact with every human inside. 364, her brain half-heartedly suggested. She scanned the list of offices, attempting to find hers.

    Her sluggish demeanor lifted for a second, when she realised there was no 4th floor in the building. The numbers went straight from 394 to 503. She thought perhaps the floor was under construction.

    She stopped her lurching entirely when she saw the elevator also failed to acknowledge the fourth floor’s existence. It had been erased entirely, surgically torn from the being of the building.

    This jarred Clara with its surrealist nature. She felt as if her world was replaced with a simulation. Some artificial scenario to teach her a lesson. The zombie began to ponder what it learn from this.

    She thought of her grandmother, who had passed away when she was 12. Clara still cried at Christmas, remembering the stories her grandma used to tell all the kids.

    She thought of her family, who had left her of their own volition. Who wanted to forget her existence. Who claimed they didn't know her. Who still do.

    She thought of her lover, who had lost herself. Who had simply wandered away from her. Who was so lost. So lost, but Clara felt lost without her.

    How many floors had Clara skipped? How many people had ripped out chapters of her life, gaping holes between 394 and 503? She realised in that moment that she wouldn't get closure. Her grandmother wasn't coming back for one last story. Her family wasn't going to change their core beliefs. Her love wasn't going to be returned.

    Clara stood in shock, a single tear ripping its way out from behind her face of stone. Her world began to crumble, but it did not last. There was no time to crumble. She had work to do. She could always drink later.

    Clara strong armed her remaining sadness down, finishing her bitter coffee as she climbed the mighty stairs. She descended into her desk, a fake smile stretching from ear to ear. Her boss insulted her, and she felt her soul rot into a filthy carcass as she automatically replied.

    “Happy to be here!”

[jayygrey]

Senses

The soft whirring of a fan, just so I don't have to hear silence

The feeling of bedsheets that have seen one too many washes, because I can only afford to "not believe in brand-new"

The taste of smoke, lingering like sad memory wrapped in haze

The same lines coming through the TV, because repeating a show almost feels like friendships

The burning of my eyes, I can't remember if I cried

The exhaustion in my body, is it sadness or am I high?

Am I using drugs, or are they using me?

With every hit, I come back to life

But when exactly did I die?

[jayygrey]

A Second-Hand Life

A glove with no match.

Pants with holes, shirts with tears.

Another can of fucking green beans.

Tooth-brushes from the 90s.

Pieces of life people threw away, turned down. Pieces of lives that nobody wanted to live.

How the fuck can I feel good living a life made up of second-hand trash and passed-up garbage?

[jayygrey]

I can feel the ice prick my skin, tearing microscopic holes into my soul

My mouth freezes shut, sealing any cries for help

The world spins in icy darkness, demons howling outside

It’s so cold, I shiver

It’s so cold my tears freeze before they can form

It’s so cold

I’m so cold

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Help.

[jayygrey]

Focus.

It's 3 AM I should sleep

Focus.

They're sad, I should say something

Focus.

I love them, I should let them know

Focus.

I just want to talk about how I feel

Focus.

Why can't I speak? Why has my voice left me?

Focus.

I feel like I'm trapped by this focus.

[jayygrey]

Mass production

Mass productionYou’re just a cog, get over itMass productionNobody needs art, people need real jobsMass productionNobody gets an award just for doing their jobMass productionI don’t care that it’s hard, just do your jobMass productionNo you can’t rest, just do your fucking jobMass produ...

Just a peek at the one of the poems in my new book (not getting published). I’ll keep posting some here, but others will be in the book (it’s going to be free).

[jayygrey]

To Love Is To Die

He is poison, but I love him.  His toxicity seeps through my veins, destroying me, piece by piece. I ache from him and yet, I ache for him. Maybe that’s part of the fun. To love is to live and to to live is to die.

[jayygrey]

Delusions Are Better

What is truth? This radical idea that there can be only one way of viewing a situation That there’s only cold hard facts and that somehow the majority of people agreeing makes that a cold hard fact in itself There’s a reality where he still loves me A reality where he still says goodnight, every night I’d rather have that delusion than the radical idea that he doesn’t speak to me anymore

[jayygrey]

Another Sappy Love Poem

The mask is off. Hers is too. To the rest of the world, she's tough and I'm absolutely without emotional pain. But she sees my tears and I see her fear. This is love, this is trust. Wtf

[jayygrey]

A Choice

Jump. You feel the air rush beneath your feet as you fall, rushing towards the ground. It doesn’t slow time, your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. In the blink of an eye, bright light encompasses you and then you’re no more. Gone.

Rewind, back up to the ledge. Sitting there, dangling your feet. You get a text, just a casual “Love you”. Do you still lean forward? Is one person so significant that you wait to fall another day? That you don’t fall at all?

Or is the weight of the world heavy enough to pull you down onto the freeway?

[jayygrey]

Happy Lies

I am sick. Disturbed. Everybody sees this shining, caring face I put up. When they see what's underneath, they fear me. Everybody loves when I lie to make them feel good. Nobody ever wants the truth, not really. People are happier believing lies. If you believe it, a lie makes your reality better. I've spent so long trying to take off my masks, to be real with somebody. I never asked myself if it was a good idea.

[jayygrey]

Palms

Like a palm after the storm, I am still alive. I may have broken in some places. I may hurt, and it may not be as pretty to others. But I know my worth and my potential. I'm going to grow and blossom and those who left me now will not find shade under my palms.

[jayygrey]

Returning to Normal

I should have known. Life is just a sick game of "how long can you stand it?" I thought I could fight my demons, be healthy. For what ends? I'm twisted this way because that's what life needs. I'm paranoid about being abandoned because when I'm not I get abandoned. Fuck all this. Fuck healthy. I'd rather have trust issues and be happy than constantly hurting. Not sure if this is a poem or a rant, but in case you missed the memo, I'm self-destructing and nothing else matters.

[jayygrey]

The Beast

Demons live inside my head. Some hide in dark corners, whispering out fear and doubt. Others charge at me, swinging anger and depression like clubs. For years, I listened. Obeyed. Just sat there and watched as they wrecked havoc. But the buck has stopped. I'm fighting back, with trust and hope and hard work. Charging into the dark corners I don't want to think about so that I can stop their whispers. Beating back anger and depression with calm and love. But the demons I fight now are grunts, pawns in a bigger game. Their leader hides away in parts of my mind so dark I can't even find my way too them. He calls out from there, sending more after me. But he cannot hide forever. The memories he hides in still exist, which means they can be reached. He is not invincible. I will find that beast, and slay him. He will wither away while I prosper, because I have the power to rise above.

[jayygrey]

Love, for Paranoid Sociopaths

I fucked up. She fucked up and then I fucked up. This is nothing new to us. When you wear these masks, it messes with you. You can't trust yourself, how could you trust others? You can't. So you either lie or leave. You can't let anybody close, but you want everybody to think they are. You want that feeling of closeness, but the voices say it can't happen. They whisper about the ones who failed you, the ones who hurt you. They whisper about the ones you failed, the ones you hurt. And you want to run. Escape. Flee this emotional trap. I always have. I always ran and tried to bury my problems deeper, sure that this time they would not escape. But this time, I haven't. I'm scared, and vulnerable. I trusted her, and she failed me. But yet, I'm not running away. I'm running to her. I'm running to comfort her because how on earth could I just leave her? Is this what love feels like for paranoid sociopaths?

[jayygrey]

The Masked Girl

Alone, in a sea of people. Faces come in and out of focus, little blurbs of personality that don’t stay long enough to be dangerous. Everybody thinks they know me. Everybody thinks that the personality they see is what’s really inside. Everybody just focuses on the mask facing them. It was good. I was safe, because nobody could see my tears. Nobody knew how much I hurt, so I could almost forget it myself. Then, her. Across the sea, another girl wanders about with masks all over. Another girl who everybody thinks they know when she’s not even sure if she knows herself. We lock eyes, and before I can even fight the idea, my feet are guiding me to her. This girl with secrets and lies, swirling around her very being. This girl who makes me want to take my mask off. This is the girl who scares me more than anything.