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Jackie Wilson Oct 2016
sharp knives
of alien family systems
cut my emotions
to pieces
and hang them
on hooks inside of me
to rot.
Jackie Wilson Oct 2016
a calendar
lies in the corner of a table,
two weeks into the New Year,
its simple pencil sketch at the top
showing at an angle.
late at night
a noise can be heard from that corner,
the sound of protesting sobs,
and a little voice
can be picked out here and there,
"all the other calendars
had pretty scenes
of mountain lakes and forest glades.
now they are all gone.
someone has taken them
to hang on their wall.
and I am still lying here.
nobody wants me.
my big, clumsy letters
are clear and dark.
a child could read them.
and my large, awkward boxes
have plenty of writing space.
I am the best calendar around
and could help someone greatly
in their struggle
to remember their place in time,
if only someone would stay long enough
to see what I am
and not what I look."
Jackie Wilson Oct 2016
a thick delicate hairdo
of tall grass
blows in the wind
over its sidewalk,
crowning it
with glory.
Jackie Wilson Oct 2016
to keep up with the sun
as it moves around
from room to room,
to dip my sunflowers
in a golden spell
of life
to let them weave songs
of yellow and light
in a visual symphony
into the air
of the whole apartment
until the last ray
fades into the wall,
leaving behind
a basket of flowers.
Jackie Wilson Oct 2016
poplar leaves
spin wind
into the music
of the woods.
Jackie Wilson Jul 2016
I bear a hard ball within me,
swollen with disease
and alive with pregnancy,
an alien thing
grafted onto me by another
and grown into me.
its numerous offspring surge outward
in crusty, scratchy waves,
flooding my system with infection
and attaching themselves to my being
to run my innermost workings
by remote control.
Dianne is my dumb, rotten 5-years-older ex-sister  who I'm not like at all and who I always had to be growing up.  This is a poem about what it does to kids to never be allowed to become themselves because their families are too busy making sure they turn into someone they're not.
Jackie Wilson Jul 2016
needles of terror
pierce my emotion sacs
which leak and spill over,
staining my intellect
and distorting my vision
to see only impossible choices
which drive me
into emotional psychosis
totally divorced
from reality.
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