Jack Writes

please do not steal my poems or writings, they are my heart and soul written as beautifully as i can manage.

[sadsuckypoetry]

[sadsuckypoetry]

forgive me father for i have sinned. i scream to the heavens and beg for you to take me from the life you so meticulously created for me. i sob as i take your name in vain, spittle leaving my mouth as i pathetically whisper over and over again how i hate you. forgive me father, please forgive me. forgive me for not knowing why you put me through this, why you never answered my broken prayers. forgive me for not understanding why my love is a sin, forgive me for not resisting temptation. i am sorry father, won’t you forgive me for hating you so? i do not know why i hate you, perhaps it is the people who use your word for evil. i am sorry father. forgive me for screaming your name in my head as i lay under a man who had the cross you died upon hanging around his neck, the same neck i scratched as i pleaded for him to stop. forgive me for begging you to make it stop, i know it is not often you preform miracles for sinners like me. i am scared you weren’t the one who planned my life for me, has the devil’s touch been within my life all along?

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

tw: suicidal thoughts ig?

i keep making plans for the future in hopes that maybe it will give me the willpower to keep surviving. the truth is, i don’t see those wishes coming true. i don’t see myself moving into my own house, i don’t see myself finally getting my first car, i don’t see myself healing and meeting the love of my life. i see my little brothers wondering what they could’ve done differently, wishing they could have told me that they never truly hated me. i see my mother crying alone in her car, hiding her pain as she always has. i see my father clutching to his wife while she too struggles to breathe because, though i may not truly be her child, i am the only semblance of a daughter she’ll ever have. i see my older brother escaping deeper into his games, trying his hardest not to regret all of the times he didn’t come upstairs to speak to me. i see a funeral service, my parents struggling to pay for my death just like they struggled to pay for my life. i see my friends speaking of how special i was, how i always remained a being of love despite the horrors i witnessed and experienced. i do not see myself living to experience the bright future i keep trying to force myself to believe is possible. i am simply not meant for that, i never was. i was born to be placed into the ground, sooner rather than later. i was meant to die young, to perish into the statistics of people who passed far too young. i was never meant to be anything but a tombstone that shows a death date that seems far too early.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

TW: mention of SA and death.

sometimes, i am not sure if it’s appropriate to speak about what he did to me. because he was kind, he was loving, he was sweet. but he did rape me. and he’s dead. i don’t know if it’s appropriate to hate a dead man who just so happened to be perfect other than the rape part. i don’t know if it’s okay to hate him for the way i don’t remember anything, i just remember waking up bent over the bathroom counter. i remember lifting my head and making eye contact with my reflection, too confused to even process what was going on. i don’t remember much after that. i don’t remember much before it either. i was heartbroken when he died because as much as i hated him for what he did he was still perfect in every other way. i found myself defending him to myself, how dare i tarnish a dead man’s name? he was my friend, but he did rape me. am i mourning my friend or my rapist? am i wrong for mourning him? am i wrong for saying he was perfect in every other way? it feels wrong, but he was. how do i convince myself that it is okay to hate a dead man?

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

TW: depiction of s/a

you shoved your fingers down my throat and forced me to vomit up the last traces of my innocence. you drank it up, enjoying the taste of it as you ripped my first kiss from me. you gripped my throat and tore my vocal cords out, stripping me of my voice. you groped my chest, reaching inside to rip a piece of my heart out. you caressed my face, reaching inside my head and picking at the pieces of my brain that made me, me. you tore my eyes out of their sockets, painting the image of what you did to me onto them forever. you ruined me. you took the parts of me that i loved the most and tainted them with your evil, as you did to many other girls.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

the rotting inside of me has fully killed the old me, but i’m not sad about it like i thought i’d be. i, in all honesty, feel a sense of relief. that dying rotting person is no longer in there tainting my insides. a new seed has been planted, and the old rotten me will be used as fertilizer. in a way parts of the old me will grow within the new me, so i’m not losing the old me fully. i’m just getting a better version.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

when i was young, i prayed to a god i didn’t really believe in all that much. i asked him for silly things like clothes, a kitten, to make my parents say yes to something. he never answered or gave me those things i asked for, or even gave me a clue that he was real. the universe pulled a sick joke on me because i wanted to know if god was real and asked for a sign to know that he was, and all i was given was signs that he does not. over and over again, the universe punished me for asking if this make believe man in the sky was real. i think i am still being punished for this because every once in a while i catch myself wondering if god is real, and then some shitty thing happens proving to me that he isn’t. i pray every once in a blue moon now, but my prayers are no longer for silly things. i beg for this suffering to end, for men to stop violating my body year after year, to have good parents. maybe if i stopped begging that non existent god i’d stop being punished.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

those pills, they sang

the sweetest lullabies,

the kind that

could put me to

bed within minutes.

oh how i

long for those

lullabies again.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

lullabies sang by xanax bars

became my favorite sound

so much so

that i had to hear

a few to put

me to bed

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

rubbing powder into my gums

hoping it’ll numb my pain

just like it does my mouth

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

all i’ve ever done

is be angry at

the world,

i came out

screaming and

never stopped.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

your love

made flowers

grow before

my eyes.

they wilted

away slowly,

just like

your love

for me.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

many times in

my life have

i wished to

be a bird.

i could take

flight and fly

far from this

town i hate 

to call home.

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

wide eyes

looking into

the mirror,

i do

not recognize

the woman

who is

staring back

at me

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

pieces of my

soul were ripped

away by not

so kind hands,

so please understand

that i don't

know when a

hand is kind

j.p.

[sadsuckypoetry]

skin and bone

skin and bone

wouldn’t it be

lovely to be

skin and bone

j.p.