Sarai Jakubczak
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Stories (6)
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The Sound That Carries Me
When I lie in bed, the train always finds me. The wheels slam against the tracks, loud and unforgiving, like something inside me that never learned how to rest. The horn cuts through the dark in broken intervals. Too close, too real, impossible to ignore. It drags me back to the fields of my childhood. Back when I thought life was simple. It wasn't. I just didn't have the language for how heavy it already felt. I was small, trying to survive things I didn't know how to name yet.
By Sarai Jakubczak21 days ago in Poets
The Dandelion in Concrete.
They say nothing soft survives here. Not in places where the world is loud with engines and footsteps, where laughter echoes off brick walls that forget kindness, where roots are meant to wither beneath gasoline summers and frostbitten winters. Yet somehow, in the smallest fracture of the pavement, I exist.
By Sarai Jakubczak2 months ago in Poets
Countless Nights
As I was listening to the warm putrid substance rise in her throat and expel into the slab of porcelain in front of her, I was smirking. I hoped her pain was excruciating. I wanted her to suffer, feel just a fraction of agony she put me through. Countless nights my body ached.
By Sarai Jakubczak6 years ago in Poets
Beneath
Beneath my skin I am not human. I am terrified and weak. I am merely a temple of insecurity and self-doubt. For many years my ego has been marinating in the sludge of hurtful words and physical abuse. Insecurities pushed onto me, insecurities I never asked for. I remember loving myself at one point, waking up without lurking ominous thoughts, and seeing a beautiful reflection stand before me in the mirror. I hope that one day the sludge will erode and my ego will be set free. I will love myself, again. I will beat the monster dwelling in the depths of my mind I know I can and I will.
By Sarai Jakubczak6 years ago in Poets
