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"ONE IN THREE WOMEN ARE VICTIMS OF ****** ASSAULT." They say.
I am sat. Awestruck.
"LOOK TO YOUR LEFT AND LOOK TO YOUR RIGHT. ONE OF YOU IS A VICTIM OF ****** ASSAULT."
I look to the woman on my left.
I look to the woman on my right.
I look to the front.
Avoid any eye contact.
Keep a straight face.
Don't give anything away.
How dare they out me like this?
The woman to my left knows that she hasn't.
The woman to my right knows that she hasn't.
That leaves me.
Raw and exposed.
I did not give consent for this to be shared.
This was my secret.
My ***** little secret that I do not want to have but I do despite.
Did they plan this?
They must have known.
There must be a seating plan somewhere.
Someone did some digging around.
But how?
I told no one.
This was my secret.
My ***** little secret that I do not want to have but do despite.
Anger creeps up inside.
Avoid any eye contact.
Keep a straight face.
Don't give anything away.
Pain.
I dig my nails into the palm of my hand and I squeeze.
Blood is drawn.
I look down at my hand.
The woman on my left does the same.
Cover it quick.
I look forward.
They are still talking.
I process nothing.
Avoid any eye contact.
Keep a straight face.
Don't give anything away.
They are still talking.
Focus.
Concentrate.
What are they saying?
Finally I tune back in to their closing line,
Reiterating their first point:
"ONE IN THREE WOMEN ARE VICTIMS OF ****** ASSAULT."
I watched Prima Facie tonight and it really touched me. This is my raw response to the play.
  Aug 2018 Charlie May Cullip
Beaux
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.

If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.

If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.

If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds  
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?

If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.
The state of Florida is now home to the two most deadly mass shootings in American history. Pulse Nightclub was attacked in my city, I have friends who attend Marjory Stoneman Douglas in Parkland. My little sister often fears going to school. I'm afraid to graduate and leave her. I want to be able to protect her if something happens. I hate that we have a reason to be afraid... That it's reasonable to have these fears. I hate it so f*cking much.
T
You say you just want me to me happy
So I am
But then I'm told that I'm too happy
That I must be faking it
So I'm sad
And I show it
But then I'm told that I'm too sad
That I must want attention
But I don't want that
I want the opposite
I wish somebody would get that
Inspired by a friend who is told this daily. She puts on a smile because she doesn't want to appear weak and fragile, but then is told that she seems fake. I love her so much though and I wish she wasn't out under all this pressure.
Step 1: Get out of bed
Step 2: Look in the mirror
Step 3: Practice your smile
Step 4: Eyedrops to hide the red eyes
Step 5: Conceal the dark circles
Step 6: Breathe
The curtains are almost up
Step 7: Lock down the pain
Step 8: Ignore the weight on your chest
Step 9: Silence the screams inside of your mind
Step 10: Choke down the sobs
Step 11: Ignore the stinging in your eyes
Step 12: Swallow past the tightness in your throat
You’ve put on this show a million times
Step 13: Don’t let them see
Times up. Curtains up. Camera rolling
You know how when you’re not ok but you try so hard to pretend you’re ok that it becomes a ritual
Do you remember those days before when we were care free?

Before when nothing mattered other than what adventure we'd go on next?

Before we had to worry about real world problems?

Before we made our social media accounts?

Before we encountered that first bully?

Before mental illness bothered us?

Before we felt like we were drowning?

Before we slit our wrists that first time?

Before we got so depressed that we tried to take our own lives so many times that we lost track and failing each time and each failed time adding to that collection of scars on our bodies that, if we ever get out of this black hole, will one day look back on and wonder how everything got so bad, but maybe I won't, maybe I will be successful.
I WANT TO START BY SAYING THAT I'M NOT CURRENTLY IN THIS MINDSET. I have however been this bad if not worse. When I was in year 9 (aged 14 years) I experienced bullying and I wouldn't really say it was the bullying that led me to that point, but it certainly didn't help. I felt a lot of hate towards myself as a person; not my self image, but my self concept. The bullying I'd then hold against myself and blame myself for and /that/ is what got me to where I was.

3 years later, I still struggle with depression, however I've recently started CBT (I'm getting it for depression, anxiety & chronic stress), so I'm going to see how that goes. I really hope it works. If you're struggling please seek help; take this from a girl who waited almost 4 years.
I used to read
I used to write
Songs,
Stories,
Poetry.

I used to knit
I used to sew
Plushies,
Scarfs,
Roses.

What happened to the days
Where I found enjoyment from the little things?
Why is it now
That what I once loved
Feels like a chore
That tires me,
Bores me,
Makes me contemplate everything.

What happened to my carefree childhood
Where nothing mattered
Other than when I could write
Songs,
Stories,
Poetry?
When I uses to knit and sew
Plushies,
Scarfs,
Roses?

What happened?
And why?
  Feb 2018 Charlie May Cullip
kaj
ew you’re on your period
that’s disgusting
and whenever i get a "feminine product"
i have to hide it deep down where nobody sees it
but you see
we live in a world where our own girls are getting *****
i’m a girl, not a *** object
but in the eyes of a ****** that is
exactly
what
i am
but i’m not an object
i am a person
i am a life giver
just imagine if men were as disgusted in **** as they are with periods
in the sixth grade
when the word period was mentioned
the whole room would burst out in laughter
i am a girl
my lady bits bleed
and that’s what makes me strong
and that’s what makes me a young woman
and that’s what will make me a mother one day
so ew you’re on your period
that’s disgusting
is not an insult to me
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