Hey pretty girl,
Who asked you
To take on the world?
They don't know what you've been through
That you had a child
When you were one yourself
You grew up so seamlessly
Even when you got little help.
You work two jobs
Care for the homeless
In the most extreme way.
I have learned more from you
Than I can ever repay.
Still, you never consider yourself
Unlucky or unfortunate.
Just because we are different
Does not mean a thing
People seem to think
That you're beer and I'm champagne
That isn't how it works at all.
My parents say
You've made questionable choices
Like they haven't?
I don't understand
Why money is so important
Just because we come from
Separate sectors of the financial latter
Does not mean
We lack a friendship that matters

Go ahead.
Remind me how much you love me
How much I mean to you.
How much you know I can change.
I would just love to hear your lies.

Or you can
Yell and scream
Tell me I'm fat
Tell me I'm selfish
Try to diagnose me every time I ***** up.
I would not be surprised.

Criticize me, I dare you.
It would not be the first time
And it certainly will not be the last.
Am I ruining your idea
Of a "perfect family"?
I hope I have sent it to its grave.

I wish you knew what you did to your child.
You made her afraid to open her mouth
Due to her fear of judgement.
There is no question
That you have played a role in her depression
As well as her eating disorder.
You have made her feel worthless.
You have made her feel like nothing but a number.
You have created a girl who is obsessed with perfection.
And the worst part is,
You don't even understand how bad it has gotten.

You do not know what I have been through.
A friend took advantage of me in a major way
While I was not in a proper state of mind.
But you would say that I should have been more careful,
That I should not have been sneaking around in the first place.
I wish I could tell you
That some days I just want to rip my skin off of my bones
Because I feel gross.

What he did to me was wrong,
But you would not see it that way.
I have a hard time convincing myself of the fact
That this should not have happened.
It is difficult for me not to blame myself
Or not to shut down
Because those who I have told continue to tell me I am overreacting
Or that I did something to lead him on.
I fear that you would do the same.

All I want
Is for you to say that I am alright
For once in my life.
I wish you would compliment me
Or tell me that you're proud
So maybe I could start to believe it, too.

Yes, your younger daughter is the perfect kid.
And we have both been brought up the same way.
But she has not had the experiences that I have had.
It is not fair for you to compare the two of us
As if I do not do it enough already.

So what can I say?
If I am going to drown,
Then let me drown.
Or if you can stand up on your own
Take responsibility for your role in this
Throw me a lifeline,
Then maybe I can be okay.
Maybe I can escape this cycle of destruction.

Even in the darkest caves,
The lowest depths
The driest seas
Something seems to sparkle.

Broken glass glistens in the light
It cuts me, so delicately
And you watch me bleed
Yours eyes light like fire
The intensity of your gaze is evident.

Some might call it sick
But we're all diseased with a common plague.
We find glory in watching others pay the price
For our mistakes and falters.

And still, others may call that cynicism.

I was born in a rich kid's body,
With a poor mentality.
I was born nonconventional
In a land full of people hoping to change me.
I was born a free spirit
Surrounded by clones.
And I was born an avalanche
As I have come far from infancy,
I have grown into my skin.

I'm sorry that you're way too good for me
You're like a New York City boutique
And I might as well be Kmart
You could have anyone
So why would you choose me?
I'm not blonde, I'm not skinny
And I'm no princess at all
Yet, you treat me like one
You are perfect for me
And I'm so wrong for you
I can't help but think
That this is all too good to be true
We are a cliche dream
A fairytale in the making
If I am Cinderella
I hope the clock stays at 11:59
Forever.

How provocative can I get?
People always tell me
My brain and my mouth don't connect.
I have a good head on my shoulders
Or so they think
And an unlucky case of
"Foot-in-mouth" syndrome.

The awkward first impressions are the best.
I'm pretty good with adults
As long as they can hold a conversation with me
Long enough to break the ten foot-thick ice.

But oh, I'm smart
That's what they call it now?
******* my life up
Throwing everything that has been given to me away
For a boy, a dream, a utopia?
That's smart?
I think not.

Sexcapades never go so swimmingly
With men ranging in age
A mouth like a cannon on me
Spewing curse words around authoritative figures
Never leaving anything to imagination
Being too blunt
Speaking first, thinking later?

They call me provocative
As if it is a problem.
Well, if I'm a problem
Then count me in.

Dear Queen Jezebel,
Your name has fallen through the thickets of white male history
But I think you are painted unfairly.
For you were a strong female character
In a time when they were frowned upon.
No man would tell you what to do
You held power in your strong wrists
In your condescending smile
In your waterfall hips.
You were brutal
But you you showed the world that you would not be messed with
You were not merely valuable for your ***
For your ability to pop out children.
You were revolutionary
You installed fear in the men who did everything they could
To cut you to pieces.
Maybe we are not too different
As my ex-boyfriend repeatedly told me to shut my feminist mouth
And have *** with him.
History repeatedly ****** you
Paints you as a *** symbol
Rather than a strategic businesswoman and monarch.
You knew what you were doing
And I follow your lead
They will never love us
We, Jezebel, are for them to make pets out of
We are here to show them
How the mighty
Have fallen.

Beyond the moon and the stars,
Over the horizon,
Piercingly silent was a crash.
No one knew what it was.

Sinful or sacred?
Sane or insane?
They told me to choose my own adventure,
But told me it best not be with you.

You held me underwater
And I held you up on a pedestal.
The dangerous cocktail was brewing from the start.

We pushed and provoked,
I was kicking and screaming all along
You suffered oh so silently,
Like a bomb waiting to explode.
But all I wanted was you.
And you would not deny me that.

So vulnerable was I
So understanding were you
And you hacked the motherboard of my emotions.

My mind would say,
"Abandon ship!"
But my heart loved you more.

The lust, the sweat, the lies
Tangled in between sheets
And empty promises were left there,
Running from our mouths before we could catch them.

I showed you my heart
As the real me seeped through my pores
You kept yourself discrete.
That is, until you were angry.

I knew goodbye was coming,
But every time, it was not for real.
We would break up and then lust
And do things we could not take back.
Then forgiveness became my torturer.
The death of us was near.

It became a game,
Our sick little game.
We would poke each other to see
Who could cut the deepest
Without leaving a mark, a scar
Or any permanent damage.
But we can only play for so long.

Our final kiss, touch, ****
Did not come easily.
I could not bring myself to say goodbye.
I fought, but it was not enough.
You held on, but it was not strong enough.
So we let each other drift away.

A violent affair, stained red.
A love war, tainted with arsenic.
An emotional battle, like the tip of a needle
It came and touched my heart.

Beyond the moon and the stars,
Over the horizon,
Piercingly silent was a crash.
It was my pain, my curse, my love.

That cynical sense of humor
That sarcastic disposition
Yet, a certain sadness infects
The "I don't give a ****" attitude
Are you reading me yet?
There's something ironic
Something insane
About how someone who is that insecure
Could be so ridiculously vain.

I loved you the way
Samson loved Delilah
Foolishly.
I loved you the way
Aphrodite loved Adonis
Sensually.
I loved you fatally
Lustrously
Beautifully
Brokenly.
I loved you the way
A rose loves it's thorn
Too tender to the touch.
I loved you the way
I loved no one else
And that was far too much.

I stand in front of you
Closing my eyes, because I do not want to see the gun
I know this is a firing squad
And I am undoubtedly the target.
Take your bullets, tainted with hate and fury
Please, I pray,
Make them deadly.
But you stand there for a good deal of time
Taunting me
God, would you just shoot me already?
I am already half-dead
My limbs danging from my body
My heart on the outside of my seared skin
So why do you prolong this process?
Still,
You continue to laugh at me.
I am defenseless,
What power does this give you?
I continue to talk to the god
That I still, even after this ordeal
Manage to muster up some sense of hope in
Even if it is a false one.
"Let me die"
I repeat, over and over again
"As seeing his face is like
Launching a bullet into my chest
And having my heart continue to beat."
What's worse than dying?
Living like you are dead
Because you might as well be.

Consequences are funny things
So why don't I laugh anymore?
The sun doesn't shine on me,
And your illness no longer affects my body
Or my soul.

We shared a bed
Flooded with feelings
You nearly drowned me in lust.
But drowning isn't so bad
Once you get used to it.

We worry about things
That we were never concerned with before.
The possibility of an unwanted love child
Creeps over us like sad shadow.
It is barely plausible at this point
And still, you worry.
I wish I was more distraught.

I cannot feel your distinct and lowly presence
Yet I still want you around.
I want you to make me feel alive
Even if I die in the process.
I'll do anything for a fix
Regardless of the residue it leaves behind.

Consequences are funny things
So why don't I laugh anymore?
The sun does not shine on me
For another reason:
My own illness has already ****** my body
And my soul.

The green eyed monster
Is flaunting a little black dress
She's seeing red for you
And now she's blushing, pink and rosy
Because everyone can see right through her.
You make her feel like every color of the rainbow
She'll shine for you
Because you keep her from fading to grey

We are the girls who took ourselves to school dances
Stood in the back corner eating stale popcorn
Talking **** about the "skinny *******"
Whose thigh gaps were the width of my wrist.
We are the girls who painted eyeliner beneath our irises like murals
And caked foundation onto our cracked porcelain faces
Asked to change our My Chemical Romance t-shirts
Because they were too edgy
Sorry, my pain isn't pretty
My teenaged angst isn't attractive enough for you
I won't be your success story
The one you gave a makeover
Just like they did on MTV
But even if I'm pretty in pink
I will still be pitted up against the popular girls
Girls like me don't stand a chance
Yet, still
Our bodies are made welcome mats for boys
Their eyes are invited to look us up and down
As if we are livestock or their next meal
Women become baseball cards
Passed between the clammy fingers of teen boys turned predators
The most valuable of us get treated nicely
As they violate our bodies
The uglier, cheaper we get
The more we are verbally attacked
Boys turn into men who don't know they are perpetrators
The way they get away with this
Is by turning our fingers from pointing at them
To pointing at each other
Patriarchy is very in this season
It creates entertainment for men
When girls become gladiators against one another
Remember, darling
In the game of the ancient Romans
Someone has to die.
The stakes get higher
As our names are replaced with numbers to be bid on
Is this high school or a horse race?
Watch the weakest among us fall prey
Can I get $75?
I see that hand!
The Queen Bee's own friends rip her from the highest seat
Plot twist!
Can I get $100?
Sold!
We all fall down together
The crowd goes wild.
Can you imagine what would happen
If we rose together too?
We would crash this ****** up system
The economy would collapse
If we demanded to stand with our sisters
Our Muslim, Christian, black, white, Mexican, Asian, gay, straight, queer sisters
We could literally stop the world from spinning.
Studies show
That young, single women
Are currently the most potent political force in America
This is a call
To inject our poison into the veins of this government
Overhaul and ignite gasoline
And watch this game of setting women on fire
Go up in flames.

Can you hear that?
Swoosh, swoosh, thump, thump.
The blood rushes to your head
Until your ears can't stand the pounding.

Can you feel that?
The beating in your chest is accelerating.
A heart attack could be on the horizon.
Is it the fear of getting caught
Or the chase that excites me?

Can you taste that?
It's on the tip of your tongue
And seeping through every pour
And out of every outlet in your body.

Can you smell that?
The world around you melts fragrantly
Pick your poison, your sin, your vice
Whether it be *****, ***, addictive substances
Or some hearty combination of the three
And breathe it all in

Did you see that?
Every rule they tied me down with has been shattered.
You won't sleep tonight if you run with us.

But I guarantee you'll regret it in the morning.

They say nothing is forever
This too shall pass
I will see you again some day
My love
My support
My wonderful role model
I will see you again.
So as the broken pieces of a picture frame fall around me
I do not cut myself with the broken glass as my feet.
As my stomach twists and turns with my mind
I do not reach down my throat and purge myself of hope and comfort
As the waves of depression crash around my mind
I do not submit myself to their will
I will keep my eyes focused on The Lord
For You are the only constant
In a world of impermanence.

I am that feminist that cites Betty Friedan in her arguments
Who will tell you to bite your tongue if you think women have equal rights
I am that liberal who stands up for the rights of others
While preaching about white privilege
I am that democrat who goes on Marxist rants
And looks kindly upon socialistic programs
I am that American who finds kinks in the system
But also deeply loves my country.
I am that *****, *****, ****
Who thinks I should have the right to my own body
And the government should not
I am that student who thinks the education system is ****** up
And prays for future generations because the common core is going to fail them
I am that Christian who refuses to associate with the Republican Party
But loves God with all her heart.
I am that loud-mouth who will tell you to check yourself
Before you tell a **** joke
I am that activist who will die fighting for her cause
And I will love every second of it.

I have never been
The apple of anyone's eye
Because I'm too prickly and bitter.
The object of affection
Because I am not shiny, nor do I
Sport bright and valuable colors.
Anybody's "one and only."
No,
I have been one of many
Used, abused, and stepped on
And now they wonder
Why I cannot handle commitment?
Well, I will tell you why.
If a guy cannot see past
The thick skin I wear
The bare face I show
How my hair is a little too frizzy
Is he worth the time and effort?
If he
Cheats on me
Tells me I'm worthless, ugly, nothing
Is obsessed with my
Location, activities, intentions
Why should I bother?
It seems that
Every time someone seems like
Maybe they care, maybe they are interested in me
It's a lie, a misconception, a scheme
So now, I guard my heart and mind
Keep myself closed, shut off, shutdown
But my body?
Oh, I'd give it away in an instant.
Sometimes, to get ahead in this society
You have to be their definition of a ****
In other words
Look like a lady
But act like a man.

Life*
is just a larger
dirtier version
of high school...

(No one really gets ahead)

You and I
Are like fire and gasoline
You continue to spew sparks
Into my gas tank
And expect me not to explode.

When you start on a turbulent trail
With your anti-Muslim slurs
As your speech begins to slur when you've had too much to drink
I prefer your intoxication to your ignorance any day
And your "facts" from Fox News
I try my best to cup my hands over my ears
As if I am closing floodgates
But you keep pushing me over the edge.

Floodgates are what you open
When hate spills out of your waterfall mouth
The waves ebb and flow violently
Crashing into me
Crashing into my best friend
A follower of Islam
Who would never hurt a soul
But the flood she faces on the daily
Makes her believe that she will be a casualty
Of the war the water wages.

When a father has to lie to keep his job
The one he has rightfully earned
Just because of his religion
America no longer seems like the land of the free
You complain about persecution of Christians in
The workplace and mainstream media
You don't know what persecution is.

Your acid tongue is volatile.
It spits venom into my cuts
That have yet to heal
You think you are saving me
But you just make the wound more painful.

You do not know the consequences of your words
Of the things you blindly support
The casualties are not
Dollar figures
Your right to speak freely
No matter who it hurts.
The calamities of these sentences
These mindless broadcasts
Are people.

No one begins purging
In hopes of becoming an addict
In hopes of falling from grace
In hopes of having every bit of control
Stripped from your being
Caused by the one thing
That you hoped would give you control.

I started
Because everything was being taken away
I was out of coping skills
And I needed to get a handle on my life again.
The stress was unbearable
And still is.

I did not expect
That I could not stop
That even if I wanted to
Holding my meals down would not only
Present a mental challenge
But a physical one as well.

My mouth waters when my body wants to purge
Everything I eat
I think of how it will feel coming up.
I have lost friends, have isolated myself
My voice has suffered
My grades have slipped
My emotions are not in my control
I do not sleep through the night.

Who is this person
Or lack there of?
As if I was not already a vacant ruin
Of a once pleasant human being
I have now managed to be the reason
That she is losing everything she ever loved.

You hurt, and you come to me.
It is a common mistake,
But can prove to be a lethal one.

I will tell you,
Day upon day,
Night after night,
That your life will not get better.
Has not. Cannot. Should not.

You rip me from a pencil sharpener,
Or from the thing you use to shave your legs.
You hate me,
Want to throw me out,
But no longer does it matter.

I see your tears an I absorb them.

Your face is so ugly when you cry.
You are beautiful,
And you give me the power to destroy that.
I love taking everything you care about,
Away from you in a singular moment.

You are sitting on the side of the bath tub.
I am in your hand, already sharp and poignant.
You lift me, and I get excited.
This is my time, I shout.
But will you survive it?

You are playing a game of Russian Roulette, my child.
I am a dangerous vice to keep hidden.
Your parents don't know,
Seeing as you wear sweatshirts even in the dead of summer.

The unforgiving letter on your wrists falls on deaf ears.
Considering that the only people who know,
Would not dare confront you.
They think they are protecting your friendship.
At that, I laugh.

You are no longer in control of your hand.
You follow me along the outlines on your arm.
And I am your instinct.
It is only a matter of time before you cut a little too deep,
And scare the hell out of yourself.

One question remains.
Why do you turn to me?
As some source of peace or escape?

I only give you partial pleasure,
For when I hit your skin,
I go knock on the doors,
Of my friends the Endorphin family.

However, they are getting older,
And the son Dopamine can has a curfew to make.
He will only stay present for so long.

You find yourself longing for more time with them.
So the next day, you cut again,
And you hate it.
But without fail, you still find relief.

I am a vicious cycle.
Soon enough your suicide note will be written in red.
Whether you hoped to die or not.

Your life is not your own anymore.

Advice on falling in love with an assault survivor
The first time you look at them
They will do one of two things.
They will either not look you in the eye
Out of fear that your passion will burn them
After all,
The last time another's eye stared through their paper skin
They caught on fire.
Or this person may stare straight back into your pupil
As though they are staring death straight in the face
There is no in between with a survivor
They will either move too fast or not at all
But their trust is the petal of a daisy in the desert
Withered and delicate as you touch them for the first time
You cannot expect warmth from something so broken
For survivors train themselves to ignore the ghost in their heads
But that demon will always show up
And when they finally let you undress them
You undress their monster as well
As you remove articles of clothing
Their body begins to freeze over
And the spirit they could once hide and stow away
Is now at the forefront of everything.
They train themselves to have *** with the lights off
Because should a fleck of brightness reveal an eye
A nose
A mouth
The face of their abuser will fill in the rest
They do not want you to see their body
For the scars leave train tracks of the places they've been
Crawling in fields of thorns
Wrapping themselves in knives
Swallowing perceived sanity in the form of a pill
They will not always be okay
Because in their mind they are constantly at war
With an enemy ship that retreated long ago.
To everyone around them, they are a martyr
They have won the battle
But in their mind
They are a fallen soldier
Who can't stop hearing their own gunshots fire
Into the chest of their opponent.
Falling in love with an assault survivor
Is agreeing to watch parts of them
Go up in flames
Over and over again
And picking up the ashes they leave behind.

i.
I am a short, stout girl in the corner of the room
my arms were much smaller last June
I search for reasons not to relapse in shadows like corpses
they're all dead, anyway
because my roommate is obsessed with the gym
because my best friend is obsessed with fad diets
even though I have at least fifty pounds on both of them.

ii.
I am forcing myself to use recovery speech
because it gets me through therapy more effectively
"fat is not a feeling"
my mind scoffs as I speak
every word copied and pasted from someone else's recovery blog
but my recovery is not avocados and yoga mats and veganism
it is complicated
it is painful.

iii.
I am the small, queer girl in the pew at church
so nervous as the skin around my nails begin to bleed
the scar on my ******* says "*******"
to American evangelicalism
and yet my lips still sing the loudest
the product of the "moral right"
how lovely it is to pretend to belong.

iv.
I am acting like my body knows what it is doing
as I reach for the hands of my most recent lover
I drop hints to my Republican parents
church members
best friend
but still,
I am struggling.

v.
I am trying to undo the codification of bulimia
from the fibers of my bones
I relearn daily
spun like wool through the continuum
of someone else's broken body
I become a success story
for some
but for others
I am still fat.

vi.
I want my eating disorder
my abuse
my queerness
to look normal
to be typical
some say
assimilation is liberation
so why do I still feel
chained and bound?
why am I still
unfinished?

I usually fall asleep with the light on
Because in the morning it seems like the darkness never came
My body is a perpetual light switch
Always swept up in a rapid shift from darkness to florescence
Giving someone like me mania after long spells of depression
Is like giving an alcoholic a shot of whiskey
I need it to feel like I am worth something
I need it to feel like I can get anything done
Why did God, whoever the hell they are,
Decide I needed the super power
Of dragging myself out of the pit of my bed
Only to be blindsided with some sort of dangerous drug
See, most of the time I only reach an abridged version of that mania
But when it peaks it is just that:
Dangerous
It is my favorite brand of tequila
And the last drag of a cigarette
The one where the backlog from the filter gets lost in your throat
But it keeps you buzzed for a while
You see, mania sends you spinning
A trip only a certain kind of acid can take you on
You are constantly carnival
With lights and sound and fire
That no one can calm down
You are never quite at home in your body
Which might be why others can make it theirs so easily
Most days you binge on ***** and **** and ***
Are manic days
Manic depression is like losing control of the car
And other days, forgetting how to drive
Mania is like ****
You don't need to sleep when it's got you
Mania after depression is an abusive lover who knew you were coming home
Knew you would be back for more
It was only a matter of time
Before you collapsed into their arms

My childhood was measured
By smushed handfuls of red raspberries
That stained my clothes methodically.
By counting sports cars instead of shooting stars
After all, we have enough in the suburbs to last us a while.
By "don't touch this" that comes with the affluence
Of one of the most prosperous counties in the country.
By butterfly T-shirts that were stitched together with secrets
By people picking and prodding at my size
By "if only I was skinny" vibrating my eardrums
As I had heard it from so many people before I hit the age of 12.
By being different
As at thirteen, I had no interest in make-up or push up bras or jocks
But punk rock music and a boy who was a little bit more dangerous than I anticipated.
By unwanted touches from uninvited men
Who took it upon themselves to show me womanhood
Before I could identify it myself
By the way my father stopped looking at me
As though I was his little girl
Because he began to find out where my skin has wandered.
By how my father had stopped looking at me quite some time ago
Because I was never his skinny spitting image of perfection
By the way he criticized my clothing
Told me if I wanted people to make fun of me for my size
If I wanted people to call me a ****
Then I could wear whatever the hell I wanted.
When I replied that I, in fact, did not give a flying ****
My mother chimed in
"Well you should."
And by the way complete strangers have told me to go on a diet
While others have screamed from passing cars
"****, baby, look at that body"
As though my body is my worth
And as though my worth is something to be measure
I have been taught that my worth is something tangible
That can be compacted into a little box with a pretty pink bow
Stuck on a scale and weighed
And that the number I see on that scale
The number of pounds that my body physically contains
Directly correlates with my worth as a person.
Do those strangers that hound me about my weight even stop to think
That I spend hours in front of the mirror
Pinching my skin into too-tight jeans
******* in my stomach because I just want to look my thinnest?
Do they even wonder about my past
How I have tried to diet and that is the only time I can remember my father
Treating me like a decent human being?
Oh, but I didn't lose much weight
In fact, the only time I really lost anything significant
Was when I was bulimic.
But they don't question that either.
And to the strangers who catcall me
That "body" has been abused by men I have trusted
That "body" has lost all control on a bed when a man took it from her
That "body" is strong, healthy and beautiful
It is not just a door mat for you to wipe your paws on
It is not just a *** toy whose sole purpose is to satisfy you
And then be thrown away
Is this what it means to be a woman?
To have your personhood and purpose in this world
Be quantified and made so it can be held in the same small palms
That smushed raspberries at six years old?
I hope that my worth can someday be more
Than a measurement.

For my Pop Pop
I want to see you.
Even in your frailty
As your bones shake in the gentle wind like chimes
I want to be close to you.
Your flesh is nearly transparent
The veins in your face and the thinning of your silver hair
Make you look much older than the 71 years
That have left rings on your skin.
Some say you were a poor father
And an even poorer husband.
You never got along with my aunt
Your daughter
Your beam of light shining through the sidewalk cracks
And she began to shine for other people
But her brightness reflected off of ice
And I know her coldness is not merely human nature.
Pop Pop, why were you always so kind
To my sister and me?
It's like we thawed your hardened spirit
So we could see the softness lying underneath.
Funny how it's just natural
For a three year-old and a newborn to make a grown man crumble.
I don't want to think about the fact that you may never walk again
Because your disease can never steal where we've been
Although, perhaps mundane
Steak-and-Shake, our rented condo,
And plenty of barbecue spare rib joints later
All meant the world to me.
I wish I could say something other than
The last time I saw you was on my sixteenth birthday.
It's been over a year since you stayed in the Sunshine State
And I traveled home to my garden
Pop Pop, it was hard as the years went by
The only way we got to know you was through $20 gift certificates
And the static on the other end of the telephone
On birthdays and holidays.
I wish I had called you more
Because now it's hard for you to speak.
Daddy said you had a shotgun subtlety when you spoke
"How bout them Phillies?"
"Oh....the cancer spread."
"Have you been to a game in a while?"
Pop pop, now I'm the one who's shotgun subtle
"How's the hospital food?"
I'm scared I won't get to see you
"How are you feeling?"
I'm scared you won't get better
I love you, Pop.
*I'm scared.

My parents do not quite understand.
Insert teenage angsty movie title here.
Yes, I hang out with people who are older than me,
Much older than me.
But it is because I generally do not get along with people my age.
Never have, and they know that well enough.

I guess they think that is why I have been subject to,
Drugs, alcohol, ****** activity (both wanted and unwanted)
From a young age.
NO.

First of all,
The girl who really introduced me to smoking and drinking,
Is less than a year older than me.
Sure, I have smoked at work.
But that does not mean that I would not have started.

My ex is older than me.
I wanted to have *** with him.
I do not regret
Our long days under sheets,
Becoming each others' skies.
His strong arms held me,
And I wanted to be held.

Plus, PS: all guys that are even close to my age,
Their hormones are raging at record speeds.
If not him, it would have been someone else.
That does not make me a ****,
That makes me human.

And you think that I could have prevented,
The completed, or attempted, ****** assaults
That I have survived,
Had I not hung around an older crowd?
Try again.

Time one: a family member.
Sure, he was older.
But my parents and his were in the same house when it happened.
I do not think that could have been avoided.

Time two: a church member.
He was two years older than me,
In a game of hide-and-go-seek.
He sought me out.
He tried to attack me.
Sure, he was cute.
But he ended up being nothing but dirt.
I got away from that one, however.

Those are the two that they are aware of.

Time three: a friend.
A friend who is my age.
I hesitate to call it ****** assault,
Because I, initially, was interested.
I hesitated to say no until it came to ***.
However, I did say that I was not comfortable doing things with him.

He did not listen.

He lied, said we would be together.
He teased, calling me a *****, accusing me of leading him on,
Saying he could not help himself.
He manipulated, saying that he would not treat me like my ex did,
Saying that he would not do anything to make me uncomfortable.

I could have avoided this by never even mentioning the idea of us.
But I could not have avoided it by hanging out with younger friends.
He is my age.

Some nights, I want to tear my skin off.
I have tried to wash every trace of guys like them out of my body.
I have dyed my hair,
Changed my style,
Have wanted to lose weight in the worst way.
All because you make me feel *****.

So no, Mom and Pop,
Hanging out with an older group does not cloud my vision.
In fact, it has proved itself to be a safe place for me.

October
Body's cold,
And I'm shaking.
A year clean of cutting
Is a beautiful thing.
But when it comes to the rest of the world
Has it just stopped spinning?
I am lost, with no direction.

November
I find myself grasping at straws.
I revisit the practice of purging
And I do it well.
Not only do I make myself *****
But I starve myself too.
Only, they don't know
I've been using it to my advantage
For years.

December
A teacher discovers my eating disorder
So what can I do but confess?
It has been my lifeline
But I will not lie for it
At least, not yet.
But that doesn't mean I'll stop.

My mental state weakens
And I see the slits of light through my shade.
That's all I can get
Since the dreaded events of this past September.

January
The bitter cold sends a shock through my skin
The sky is some muted shade of grey
The air is icy like my soul.

I try to push past it,
Try to let the sun reach me
But it won't
It can't.
Does this month ever end?

February
Still as hostile as its predecessor
But three days shorter.
I look through the crack of my window
Trying to embrace the light.
I get so bored so easily
As winter rages on.

How can I get through this sleet storm?
Pieces of hail, like little bullets, pierce my skin
I want to run for shelter
To the one thing that smells familiar.
A knife, a finger in my throat,
But I hold on just a little bit longer.
The only relief I allow myself
Is a drag from a cigarette
But it is still too cold for that.

March
The dead begins to find its life
Small specks of green begin to show themselves.
The air begins to rise
And I can go outside again.
But for the first fifteen days
The temperature is less than inviting.

March is also a marker.

It's been six months since God gained an angel
Six months since my body was violated again
Six months since that brutal September
That broken, sickly month
That changed my life.

April
Oh, how I love you
But I could do without your rainy days.
Even though things are looking up
I am looking down a sewage drain
Or over the edge of a balcony

Will I fall off?
Will I jump?
Will I be pushed too far?
No one can say for sure.

May
I always thought this was the perfect time of year
If I ever have children
I hope at least one of them is born during this month.

School's almost out
Senior year is on the horizon
College* is just over the mountain.
Yet my fear for the future prevails.
While my anticipation to get out of here is extreme,
I wish I could know
Who I will become
And if this ailment will leave my spirit alone.

June
Insanity plagues the dainty first month of summer
Whether it be
Finals, graduation parties, or day trips
The insanity in my mind is always unrelenting.

July
The blistering heat
Keeps me mostly indoors
Between work and vacation
I barely have time to breathe in
The suffocating density
Of the nearing 100 degree summer air.

Yet, there is still no one around
No one who's there for me
Who the hell cares?
It's summer
Which gives them a new excuse
To forget about my existence.

August
The birthday blues catch me by the throat
Everyone's gone
And I'm another year older
Big deal.

I smile
Thank them for my presents
Pray to get what I really want:
My license.
Freedom.
A car that I will purchase
After almost two years of working the same
Minimum wage job.
Only time will tell.

But there is nothing special about this birthday.
Multi-colored candles replace my cigarettes
At least they won't give me cancer.

September
School's in session.
But more importantly
It's the anniversary
Of a friend's death
And that vicious attack.
So how do I feel?
How do I cope?
How do I deal?

Honestly, I battle the pain.
Honestly, my memories of both are my only connection.
Honestly, I feel okay.

They call you "woman"
Though you probably are just shy
You are only about fourteen
When a nation is sewn into your womb
The white men, they will call you exotic
Call your brothers savages
As they pin you to a tree
And colonize the nest below your belly
They will imperialize your body
Annex your ******
Because they can
They are above you, after all
Yet you are still looking ahead
So eloquent while under attack
Why is **** suddenly beautiful
When it is a weapon of war?
Why do we normalize
The abuse of women with brown skin?
Not pain, just literature
So darling, I am so sorry
For what my brothers, for what my ancestors
Did to you
I am so sorry that the war on your body
Is why I am standing on your homeland
Though the skin of my relatives was not on American soil
Until two hundred years later
My blood was never shed on that dirt
Anyone who came here after you
Has hands covered in red
Flash forward three hundred years
These white men whose forefathers
Made a throne for their heirs inside of you
Are accusing other brown-skinned people
Of being terrorists
Of being rapists
Did we really forget that quickly?
They will wage war for my body
Because it lacks pigment
But they will ignore
That they are the ones committing the crime.
Every time a brown person is deported
Every time we vote for someone
Who spews bile when they speak
Every time we accuse immigrants
Of advancing our **** problem
We are slicing your children from your insides
Marvelous woman
Each nation you birthed is under attack
Every time we attack another nation
Our hands are covered in red.

I've never been one for talking.
My words have always been used sparingly
As a child, they were minimal and meaningful
But my years progressed
I lost confidence
So they became less and less.
I started to believe
That my opinion was worthless
And I could never formulate a perfect method
In which to express my emotions to others
So I began to fall into myself.
As depression hit like a crashing wave
And anxiety was the flood that followed
I looked for ways to cope.
I would attack myself with anything sharp
Sending me to the hospital was it's only effect.
An eight year battle with an eating disorder
Seldom reaped any benefits.
But through it all,
I began recording my experiences.
Not ******
But with a pen in my hand
And a cigarette hard-pressed between my lips.
I would write anywhere I could
In classes
In my bedroom
Sometimes, surrounded by nature
And it was so unexpectedly freeing.
It was as though
My words finally made sense
And flowed seamlessly, one into the next
I didn't stammer or hesitate when I wrote.
I felt esteemed and witty and self-assured
I finally had a space where I was free of judgement.
All in all,
Writing is a gift
To express thoughts and say exactly what you mean
Is beautiful.
For me,
Writing is a means of escape
Of expression
Of art.
Writing is really
The way I communicate with the world around me.

Angel number one, the single mother.
A minority is she where I live
But where I love, she is abundant.

She loves her children with such a great force
But cannot always be around.
She works three jobs for dirt cheap
Just to support her babies.
Whether she wanted them or not,
Daddy walked out and won't pay child support.

Now she must play both mom and dad.
She has every reason to give up,
But she does not and will not.
And yet so many parents are walking away,
Because their kids are "too much to handle."
And they live affluently.

Angel number two, the pregnant teen.
I know, you are rolling your eyes right now
And of course, sometimes it is her fault
But many times it is not.
Either way, she is still a child.

Daddy hit her, or he left
Or Mama's boyfriend touched her
And all she wants is to feel love
From someone with strong hands.
Now at those same hands,
She begs for mercy.

The first time he punched her,
She smiled timidly.
"It's alright" she says.
But even she cannot believe it,
Or come out of the ghost-like state that has come over her.
They've dug a grave for her self-esteem.

Now she is with child
And he is with the state.
She is relieved, and yet unsettled.
She will not abandon her love for him.

She has no real options.

With these two women, and so many more like them
How can we sit back and complain?
Our cushy lives in our three story homes,
Seem like their heaven.
I have even heard a child of nine, when he came to our community, say
"It's like Disney World!"

We must be their voices.
We must be their light.
If we do not,
Who else will do it for them?

They will never ask for it.
They will not complain.
So we must bring a light to make heaven
Out of this city of forgotten angels.

You are corrosive
Bad for my health,
Your smell makes me gag
And your stare makes me cringe.

Every time I talk to you,
I need a cigarette.
My body starts to sweat
And I cannot look at your face.

You must be a demon
Has the Devil sent you?
Or maybe it was God
To mark all of my transgressions.
I can't decide which is my punishment
Being in your general vicinity
Or the flashbacks that keep me from sleeping.

Maybe I'm going crazy,
Off the deep end, as they say.
All I remember is your curled, slimy lips
As they pressed against mine.
Your pudgy, grimy hands
As they explored my body.
Areas they had no right to trespass.

Then your memory triggers his.
His low, barely-audible voice
Penetrating my eardrums as if it was a siren
The way he looked at me, a child
As if I was much older.

His hands, I remember those too
They roamed the, at that time,
Untraveled and desolate crevices of my silhouette
A child's.

I remember how when I crawled on top of him
The journey felt like it took years.
His long legs seemed even longer than they were
And I seemed even smaller than I was.

The two of you have each destroyed
Different parts of me.
One part was innocence
The other was control.
Now I have neither.

You have taken everything from me
And I will give my life to get it back.

Pull the trigger
Tick, tick, boom the bomb explodes
I am ticking like a time bomb
Ticking becomes tremors
Tremors become I can't breathe
Nor handle this much longer.

Pull the trigger
Touching me in certain ways
The smell of mushrooms
The anxiety that won't stop circling
All look like the barrel of a loaded gun.

Pull the trigger
Trigger warnings on songs, poems, anything
Aren't taken seriously
Causing me to have episodes
Causing me to bleed on the outside
From the inside out.
I now hardly exist
And these things make it harder
So please
Pull the trigger

Remember when you were little
And the boogie man made a home for himself
Right underneath your sleeping place?

A bed was supposed to be a safe haven
And yet, right below said fortress
A community of demons dance and devils play
While you try to calm your mind.

Noises used to scare me when I was a child.
I was afraid of banging, squeaks, screeches, taps
Even if I knew there was nothing outside my window.
Now I am afraid of something else that comes with the night:
Silence.

Our safe havens get riddled with demons too.
Addiction, death, brokenness, self-hate
They seem to infect us
Right after we have reached our prime, or peak
Right when we are teetering on the brink of perfection
Something sends us tumbling down.
We were not far off when we were children.

Monsters do exist,
But they reside inside of us.

I must avoid this
Body shaking
Palms sweating
Heart racing
Pain ensuing
All over.

My head
My stomach
My lower back
Everything burns.
Everything stings.

I want to scream.
I want to cut.
I want to die.

All because I lost a homework assignment.
Or I'm running late.
Or I had an argument with my parents.
Petty things, enormous reaction.

I have learned to quiet those tendencies
Because I can feel them coming on.
I feel the compulsions raging inside of me
Like someone has detonated a bomb.

Breathe.
Slow your mind by
Repeating a phrase
Over and over
Round and round
It turns.

I am okay
I am okay
I am okay.
I must continue to remember
That these things do not determine
My future, my life, my existence
Me.

These are the things that one must constantly think
While in the midst of a panic attack.

Talking about your assault
As if you are removed from it.
When someone apologizes for his unforgivable actions
Even though he was always unapologetic
I calmly reply
"It's okay"
And sometimes even with a smile on my face.

But it's not okay
Or rather
What he did to me will never be okay
And I always feel foolish after that response leaves my lips

You lie to people a say you hate him
But really
If I'm being honest
I never did

Although, my situation is different than most
Because this wasn't some vicious act of ******
But rather, a game my teenage cousin with Aspbergers
Told me to play.
Looking back,
I was fourteen once too
And I wasn't even close to perfect
I can't incriminate him based on one dire mistake.

I never wish to minimize anyone's experience with abuse
Except, of course, my own
Because making it smaller
Makes me feel more in control
Just as blaming myself used to do.

Granted, I have dealt with it
But now I remove myself from the situation when I discuss it
As if I am talking about someone else.
That way, I do not have to vividly see it in my mind.
That way, I don't have to explain
How I have to fall asleep to music
That way, I don't have to explain
How I can't have *** with the lights on
Or else I see his face.

When I say I am perfectly comfortable talking about it
I don't know if 'perfectly comfortable' reflects it as well as
I am just used to it
And I feel as though it is necessary to discuss.
I am not one to shy away from challenging topics.

While he made me stronger
Some days being strong is just too hard
And I give in to old habits
Or at least to the temptation of them.
I haven't bled from the result
Of a self-inflicted razor blade or kitchen knife
In nearly two years.
And my bulimia is better
Though I have only rid myself of that vice
Three months ago.

And yet,
Talking about my molestation seems
So routine, so standard
Which is scary
Because something that heinous should shock me more
But it doesn't.

Maybe it's because
He started an avalanche
When it came to boys using me for ***.
Maybe it's because
I share the same blood
As a child-molester.

It seems as though **** culture has permeated me for so long
That it's in my DNA
Woven strand by strand
So it doesn't scare me anymore.

It all comes down to perspective
And talking about my assault from a third person perspective
Keeps my battle scars under wraps
And my mind well guarded.

So, my dear
I have some things I'd like to tell you.
I hope you choke on every word of this poem.

Where to begin?
When I was dying on the inside,
You took advantage of me
Decoded my feelings,
Bullied me all the way to second base
And beyond

How can you be so naïve
That you can convince yourself
That this was my fault?
I guess you've got everyone else fooled, too.

Nobody knows the truth.
Mom thinks I'm jumpy because I'm energetic.
Dad thinks I don't sleep well at night
Because I sleep too late in the morning.
They don't know it is because I feel *****
Because of you.

But who would believe me?
I already lied for you,
Saying you took advantage of me,
But telling them I still said yes willingly
The first time you asked.

If I told and you knew,
You would deny it avidly, saying
"It's not like I ***** you or anything."
And
"It's not like I forced you."

You're right.
I've done my homework.
It's called indecent assault
And coercion.

But I still can't bring myself to call it that,
Or to tell anyone.

So honey, you're pretty **** lucky
That it took me four months to understand
That what you did to me is wrong.

In my home, I have been:
Afraid to talk about certain things,
Most things.
Fearful to express my views
With the possibility of getting jumped on.
Taught that I am worthless
Or at least
Worth less than most other people my age.
Told that I am selfish.
Shamed.
Sheltered.
A disgrace.
Misunderstood.

I will talk to my children about ***,
Safe ***, the way it was never discussed with me.
But if my daughter comes home pregnant,
I will not banish or brand her.
I will continue to love her.

I will not force any religion down their throats.
I may expose them to some,
But they can feel free to tell me that it is not for them
And we will try something else.
I want them to come to believe in something,
Not feel that they have to.

If my daughter brings home a girlfriend,
Or my son a boyfriend,
I will embrace them.
My household will be open and accepting.
My children will not have any reason to fear
Expressing themselves.
Their true selves.
The thing I could never express.

I will not overlook it if my child has scars on her wrist
Skips meals
Shows signs of abuse.
I will not tell myself
That this cannot happen.
But I will try to help her,
Not diagnose her
Or shame her out of her behaviors.

I will accept my children
For everything for which I was ridiculed.

I find no luster in anything
And I thought bringing you back
Would bring meaning to my life again.
I would love you to the moon and back
If you would only let me.
But instead,
You left me hanging among the stars.

Clothes shed like old skins
Our feelings are left on the floor somewhere in between.
We will not stop, cannot stop
The smell of you makes my eyes sting
And your touch makes me melt.

Our lust burns like a cigarette
And love is the smoke that chokes us
Until we both black out.

In fact,
You bought me a pack of Marlboros that day
On your way to my house.
We sat on the deck intertwined
As I smoked my life away.

And now
I don't know what to feel
But it is better than feeling nothing at all.

So much hate in this world
Has gone unaddressed.
We hear plenty
About slavery in the early American days
And how how a civil war abolished it.

But our children do not understand
That there is still slavery today
Humans are being sold
In a secret industry that's booming
Here in the US and abroad.

We talk about racism in the 60s
And the future generation does not know
That men and women worldwide
Are being persecuted
Based on the pigments in their skin.

The Jewish Holocaust in World War II
Is discussed in classrooms
All over the earth.
Yet, the students remain blind
To the genocides that are prevalent in countries
That are flying under the radar.

Millions of people, slaughtered
Because of their beliefs and ethnicity
And we just sit back and let it happen
With our heads in the sand.

Women and children, beaten and *****
Because of their husbands' and fathers' sins.
Children being drugged
And forced to fight
For an adult's war
By those who were supposed to protect them.
And all we can say is
"How sad."

Many of us throw money in an emotionless pail
To help the causes so foreign to us.
Why can't we wake up
And help the less fortunate?
Even the most destitute of the United States
Do not know the poverty and violence
That prevail in developing countries.
And this is not solely their problem
But one for the human race as a whole.

Teachers, are you listening?
Won't you speak up
And teach the future leaders
About things less commonly discussed
Because they aren't so happy?
Abandon your pride
Because those events that go unaddressed
Leave us unaware.

A life spent in the comparative
Is a life spent searching
Desiring something more, something better
A thing that will meet society's approval
Everyone's approval.

If you only knew
How perfect, how flawless you seem to me
How I would never criticize you
The way I browbeat myself.
Yet you find every little thing to pick at
But you would say the same thing to me.

So why does it frustrate me?
When you complain about your hair being out of place
Your smile being crooked
Your thighs being too large
Or your nonexistent muffin top to the rest of us
But to you its omnipresent

Because I have all those things.
They are wrong with me
Not you.

Because you, by definition
Are skinnier, prettier and more likable than I am
I strive to be like you,
So maybe I could be happy.
And yet you want to change it.

Because I fear that you see me
The same way I see myself.

I will never measure up to you
But I wish you could meet your own requirements
For better than good enough.

I wish you could see yourself
Through the same lens that the world views you through.

It dies.
Flower crushed between sweaty fingers
My shaking palms reach out to you
I cannot escape
A waterfall pulls me into this scenescape
So I let it wash my fear away.
I feel her lips pressing down on mine
Her scent is rose water and tangerine
I kissed a woman
Or she kissed me?
I kissed a woman
Looking up, I feel the knots within my gut
My belly does not approve of some online romance
My belly does not approve of romance, period
That's why we keep it casual
And I have other men around
Like scarves to flaunt for different occasions
But the part they leave out
Maybe intentionally
Is that I only engage in relationships
Where I have complete control.
And so the flower between sweaty fingers wilts
It dies.
They all do
Because I grasp them too tightly.

To my fake nails
That flaunted a pastel color in the fall
I don't remember why, exactly
I only recall ripping you off, one by one
Like petals from a daisy
It hurt, but I liked the sound of glue
Tearing off dead skin
Plunk you into the trash can
Because you didn't scratch his eyes out
Like you were told to
You didn't react
Like you were told to
Your body didn't fight back
Like you were told to
Instead, body break body shatter
Like glass on wood floor
Now, I watch her fall as smoothly as I did
When will she shatter for him?
Now, my real nails dig into my wrists
Holding onto everything you took
When you - I don't know what to call it anymore
Call it ****** assault
Shatter
Call it revictimization
Shatter
But that makes it seems like it was never his fault shatter in the first place
When your life becomes nothing
But sharpened nails and broken glass
You forget what you are made out of.
I see his iron bar face
But I am composed of diamond
Because the only thing that can break one
Is itself.

This is mania.
This is so much buzzing in my brain I can't break free
This is writing poetry at 2 AM
(Bad poetry)
This is crying hysterically for no reason
This is hallucinating
(Or am I dreaming with my eyes open?)
This is...oh, look at the time...it's 4 AM already?
This is screaming and punching myself in the arm over trivial matters
This is talking to the ex boyfriend
This is sleeping with the ex boyfriend
This is sleeping with anyone who looks at you
This is not thinking about it twice
This is I'm not very productive
This is realizing I haven't slept an ounce
This is I'm even bad at being manic depressive.

This is depression.
This is pumping a gallon of caffeine into my bloodstream just to get out of bed
This is forcing a faux smile on my face day to day
This is wanting to reopen wounds on my wrists that have been healed for two years
This is wearing his agony and his guilt on my shoulders like a heavy book bag
This is everything hurts, can I go home and sleep yet?
(After all, I didn't sleep last night.)
This is no makeup, don't care
This is I'm ugly anyway
This is I don't care about school
This is I am too fearful about the future
This is I am too fearful about everything
This is the anxiety that encases my body
This is the dread that fills my lungs
This is every desire to relapse
This is no productivity
This is why am I so sad today?
(Yet I'm not sad enough for someone to notice.)
This is I'm even bad at being manic *depressive.

Dear White Male Legislators,
I had no idea you all have vaginas!
It seems like you can all take them on and off
At exactly the instances in which it benefits you politically.
Perry, *******, Bright
You all seem pretty concerned with making reproductive rights for women
Fairly obsolete.

Dear White Male Legislators,
You see, we, as females, do not have the option
Of running the other way if our partner gets pregnant
Leaving her in the dust of our mistakes
Being able to pay a fee every month
Not because we care about our children
But because it will keep our deadbeat ***** from seeing the inside of a jail cell
No, we as women do not have those choices
Men do.
And our bodies are not made for your
Political platform or religious debate
No, our figures exist because we exist
And we are people, too.

Dear White Male Legislators,
Our bodies are ours
And they do not belong to a male-dominated government
That seeks to attack them and by doing so
Deems **** culture socially acceptable
Without uttering a word about it.

Dear White Male Legislators,
Have you experienced the shame or stigma
That comes along with even just visiting an abortion clinic's website?
Clearly, if you are ***** and your abuser is not kind enough to use a ******
Not having your body shut down as you say and I quote happens during
"Legitimate ****"
Putting yourself and your unborn descendent at risk if you deliver
Having *** and being unable to deal with the unintended consequences
Makes you a *****, a ****, or a *****
While the man who put you in this position
Cannot control his urges to knock up the first woman he finds even moderately attractive.

Dear White Male Legislators,
You must be pretty important
If you can play God and judge all of these helpless women
Call what they are doing a sin
And **** them to Hell both
In death and in life.

Dear White Male Legislators,
I hope you never get any woman pregnant
Who hopes to be even slightly independent
Or make any decisions on her own
Especially if they involve the rights to her body.
With you,
She will be a byproduct of sexism
And so will your offspring.

Dear certain White Male Legislators,
In closing,
If you truly care about the good of our country and its people
Never procreate.

Walking through days as a zombie
Begins to remind you that nothing is as it was
And never will be again.
Numbness entraps me
Pick up my lifeless body
With your bare hands, I beg you
Darling don't let go.

Sinfulness no longer feels exciting or dangerous.
Sadness is no longer sadness.
Happiness is illusive.
Life has the tendency to lose its beauty
Because I cannot feel.

So why not take
One more cut to my wrist
One more sip from the glass
One more drag of the sweet smoke of forgetfulness.
One more dose of your potent love
Or your homicidal lust.
You were my *******, my addiction.
Consume me once again
And let me infatuate you once more.
So that I can stop feeling so dead.

I tried to block you out.
I cup my hands over my ears,
Sing some immature tune
To keep your memory away.

It didn't work.

My mind still goes,
To the way you touched me then.
To the way your strong, stretched fingers
Traced my childish frame.
To what you made me do.

I still replay a movie in my head.
"It's just a game" you promised.
"All the big kids do it."
No. They don't.

You're so ****** up that you
Were able to convince me that
Something's wrong with me.
I didn't ****** a child.
I didn't lie to and coerce a seven year old
To give into my own deranged needs and desires.
You did that, remember?

Part of me almost feels
Sorry for you.
I know you have your problems
That you were born with
But that is not my fault
And that is certainly not
A seven year-old version of me's fault, either.

I told about what you did to me
When I was fourteen.
Some people say it must have been nearly impossible
To keep a secret like that for seven years.
It was honestly harder for me to break that secret.

Part of me was emboldened.
Part of me started to feel okay.
Until it all happened again.

My ex and I have been intimate
But it is always consensual.
When a friend took advantage of me
Right after some tragic events took place
I didn't know what to do.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't think.

It happened so fast
But we didn't *****.
I found my voice to deny that,
Avidly.

That, however
Is a little less black and white.
The way you abused me, clearly
Was wrong, illegal, and disgusting in every sense of the word.
I understand that.
I do not understand what he did to me
And it has left me more confused than anything else.

I won't lie to you,
I am ****** about what you did to me
Still, to this day.
I would never confront you about it
I love your mother too much to hurt her that way.

I am ****** about what he did to me, too.
I still have the world's hardest time
Going to school, to work, anywhere
Out of fear that I will see him.

When I do see him,
I feel my breaths get short and raspy
And my heart beats too quickly for me to catch up
My body shakes,
And I get an overwhelming nauseous sensation.

However, I am trying to cope with this.
It will not keep me bound.
You never kept me bound.
I am breaking through every chain
That has strangled me like a noose.

I am accepting this
With every bone of my being
So I can move on with my life
So I can teach others
So I can become stronger
No thanks to you.