jerrey Nov 16
I use my teeth till my heart goes numb—
I won’t stop and I’m not done
until the tears that make me sick
aren’t from my heart, but my stomach

And your betrayal really hurts,
but the salty taste of potato chip bags
is the only thing that’s worse
And every time I see your face,
I want to know how my pantry tastes

And every time I remember,
I have two tubs of ice cream
in the snowy cold November
And when I think of the other girl,
I lose my mind in the chocolatey swirls

And for every lie that you’d sworn,
I make myself a seventh bag
to choke myself in buttery popcorn
And for every one of your “please don’t go’s”,
I pop a few more Oreos

I eat until I think I’m dead—
then throw it up and start again
So every time my heartache hurts
I let my stomach know it could be worse
Good news: I got rid of my writer’s block. Bad news: it’s only because I got cheated on. The title is one of the texts he sent to the other girl. Might change it to “Eat Your Heart Out”
jerrey Aug 15
I beat the sunrise.
It can’t outrun me
when I’m up all night.

And secretly
the energy
in my personality
is the courtesy
of the adrenaline in
the morning
that’s been lasting
since 3 AM.

Every time the sky glows
my body knows
how it always goes.

My goosebumps raise
until the jealous sun’s rays,
flaming around laze,
come to whisper the day,
and they often say
the morning is “mine”
and now it’s time—
because they call me the Lark—
for me to tell,
on branches from which I fell,
the day to start.

I hit my head going to bed.
Now I’ll be awake
even when I’m dead.

And secretly I’ve
always liked
the fright of night
and spite
of all things bright,
often unkind,
in this sour mind
of mine.

Every time the veil lifts,
this is it,
how I can’t quit.

My feathers jump
and the sun’s always stumped,
traveling slowly up,
why I haven’t yet done
the morning fun
as I reluctantly climb,
and now it’s time—
because they call me the Lark,—
for me to tell,
on branches from which I fell,
the day to start.
I want to be someone else. But I’m trapped being a Lark, putting on the facade, stuck in the same routine doing the same thing everyday and it’s not what I want to do—not who I want to be. But what other choice do I have?
jerrey Aug 6
Peace.
What is peace?

What is its face
that hides behind its name?
What is its face
that brings it greed to fame?

What is its mercy
that lures the hearts of men?
What is its mercy
that lures them to their death?

Peace
that lets us bleed
and tells us we're alive.
Peace
that we say we need
even as we die.

Peace
that has been betrayed
more than it's own sin.
Peace
that makes us stay afraid,
with more than war to win.

Why do you run
when men claw at you
with grimy fingernails?
Why do you run,
scared men will find the truth:
you are not what they hail?

What is this peace
that leaves men rotting?
With their last breath,
they whisper your name.
What is this peace
of which wars are talking
to drown the sound of death;
wars you cannot tame?

Peace.
Where is peace?

Are you found in
the dawn's wake
or the still, restful night?
Or will we find
that you are fake,
but real battles we fight?

Are you found in
danger’s rich path
when it is crumbling?
Or will we find
the peace for which we ask
is drunk and stumbling?

Are you found in
a single thought
within our own souls?
Or will we find
that you are not—
you are fools gold.
I don’t have all the answers. Sometimes I can only just ask the questions.
jerrey Jul 29
Nothing travels faster than money—
      And I’m a dollar bill
      From hand to hand
      Across lakes and land
      You rid me at your will

I’ve traveled in air and underground—
      And I’ve seen every state
      Every wallet, every store
      When I become a bore
      You spend me, won’t hesitate

I’m dropped, lost, and found in small places—
      A toddler’s piggy bank
      Lose me anywhere
      But to a millionaire
      What difference do I make?

I have been in every back alley—
      Given away in the dark,
      Tackled in the mud,
      Responsible for blood,
      But don’t even make a mark

I can’t remember everywhere I’ve been—
      Every day a different fate
      Through the gutter
      From one to another
      You won’t hold my weight

I’m there when you need water—
      And when you need food
      But in the end
      Just follow the trend
      You forget I was ever used

People make themselves slaves for me—
      But then I’m thrown away
      Worth less every year
      After holding me dear
      You just replace me the next day

I’m only worth something when used—
      And that’s always proved
      Time and time again
      I lie to me but then
      Always find that it’s my truth

I was created for it, made to be used—
      Now I’m ripped apart and torn
      Beaten, trampled, stolen
      Until I am broken
      Far beyond how I was born

I think I am alone, then I somehow find—
      Billions of me out there
      So try to remember
      A million of me together
      Can break a millionaire
Everyone uses me so here, have a metaphor:
jerrey Jul 29
I don’t care how
or care what you do
to make it happen;
I just told you
make me shine
so slather me in turpentine.

I want the sun to shrink
and the world turn dark,
when she rests her eyes—
no longer rise—
upon my fiery spark.

I want the moon to swoon
and raise the tides
when he looks for the sun,
but instead
it’s my beauty that he finds.

I want the stars to bow down
and shower me in gold
when I shine brighter
and reach higher
than the stars of old.

I want storms to make
the world stir
when I walk upon
their earth,
no matter what it’ll take.

I don’t care
if it kills me;
just answer my plea.
I just want, so badly,
to shine,
so slather me in turpentine.
jerrey Jul 28
Why is it thunder every time
that breaks my soul
and shakes my mind—
that rattles my heart
and shatters my will—
that makes me listen
and stand still?

Why is it lightning every time
that comes with scars
and numbs my mind—
that sets up ablaze
and gets to a thrill—
that makes me watch
and stand still?
jerrey Jul 28
I was raised hungry
So don’t even try to love me
I just want money
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