I know I know I know
Human emotions are simply complex;
I understand but can’t control them.
Every second is different
I’m in the middle of polar opposite
thoughts and emotions.
I’m happy;
I want to be dead.
Bipolar milliseconds
are draining my core.

If only my scars were on the surface of my body. Then maybe you’d understand the burden of pain I have held.

I'll try to keep on
running.
They'll get lost in
the distance-
I'll leave them behind,
  these innocent
feelings.

There is nothing better than a walk in the rain
while your heart is heavy and you’re aching in pain.
Feeling the cold raindrops pitter-patter upon your skin,
as your own warm teardrops are running from cheek to chin.
And there is nothing like smelling the scent of the rain
to ground yourself as you begin to fall into despair again.

What would you do if I told you,
That thing you’ve been dreaming of,
That beautiful feeling of longing,
Is right around the corner?

and they never knew
they were lost stars,
building their empires
after many lost wars.

You
Came
into
My life
and, that's
The reason I am
Today alive !!

you inhale tragedies
and exhale poetry

he is not worth it

You broke her heart into pieces
Crushed his broken bits out into powders
For you a flame red lipstick is exquisite
The one with an ice cream stick is innocent
You are always busy labelling people
With what you see rather than who they are
You are too quick in calling a victim a criminal
Too quick in believing a criminal an innocent
You don't care about their feelings
All you need is the content for your gossips
You judge by appearance
But never really cared about the broken heart locked up in a fence
Oh dear society, you are too quick to judge
Oh dear society please do change

.................................................................­.........................
T
Th
The
The m
The mu
The mus
The musi
The music
The music i
The music in
The music in m
The music in my
The music in my h
The music in my he
The music in my he
The music in my hea
The music in my head
The music in my hea
The music in my he
The music in my h
The music in my
The music in m
The music in
The music i
The music
The musi
The mus
The mu
The m
The
Th
T
H
Ha
Has
Has b
Has be
Has bee
Has been
Has been o
Has been on
Has been on r
Has been on re
Has been on rep
Has been on repe
Has been on repea
Has been on repeat
Has been on repea
Has been on repe
Has been on rep
Has been on re
Has been on r
Has been on
Has been o
Has been
Has bee
Has be
Has b
Has
Ha
H
T
Tu
Tur
Turn
Turne
Turned
Turned a
Turned al
Turned all
Turned all t
Turned all th
Turned all the
Turned all the w
Turned all the wa
Turned all the way
Turned all the way u
Turned all the way up
Turned all the way u
Turned all the way
Turned all the wa
Turned all the w
Turned all the
Turned all th
Turned all t
Turned all
Turned al
Turned a
Turned
Turne
Turn
Tur
Tu
T
F
Fo
For
For q
For qu
For qui
For quit
For quite
For quite s
For quite so
For quite som
For quite some
For quite some t
For quite some ti
For quite some tim
For quite some time
For quite some tim
For quite some ti
For quite some t
For quite some
For quite som
For quite so
For quite s
For quite
For quit
For qui
For qu
For q
For
Fo
F
......................................................­....................................
Sadly, I've forgotten the melody

No one wants to hear about the aftermath of survivors of domestic abuse.
But Everyone loves to hear a good story. The story of how she had the courage to leave. Everyone wants to hear about all the horrors you had endured. The violations, the violence, the control. They want to hear everything in detail. They want to hear as so they can feel it themselves.

But what they don’t want to hear is the aftermath and healing. After you tell them your lifetime movie stories of the heroine that survived. They just want it to end there. Like you would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, a fairy tale.

After you get away you move on to the next stage. This stage is remembrance and grief. No one wants to hear this. There’s no excitement. This is the stage where survivors again, are supposed to shut up and heal in silence. because if you don’t, then you’re seeking attention.

But what if I don’t want to shut up. What if I want to shout all my anger from the roof tops until my lungs are empty and my throat is on fire?

If you do, then the world will look at you as if you’re too aggressive. Like you’re not a true survivor.

The world thinks no survivor should be angry anymore. That survivors should just be grateful that our war is over. Is that how I should see it , as if I’ve won.

Oh please Society, tell me; what did I win?? What exactly is my ******* grand prize??  

Congratulations Alex you’ve won memories that stop you dead in your tracks, dreams of revenge against your abuser putting him through all the suffering you had to endure, You’ve won the feeling of being completely alone and not even being able to trust yourself.

So that’s it? my ******* grand  prize is PTSD. That’s what I should be thankful for.
**** that ****.

I can’t even tell anyone what exactly I’m going through because people will think I’m feeling sorry for myself.

I’m not.

I don’t feel sorry for myself at all.
I’m angry because I was controlled. I’m angry because I don’t fit the stereotype of a domestic abuse survivor. I’m angry because i can’t talk about it to anyone except my therapist. I’m angry that I have to look and act like I’m happy all the time. When actually that’s exhausting for me.

I’m angry at the fact that I’m angry all the time.
I’m angry that I’m looking at what I just wrote down and thinking to myself that’s a lie. When it’s not. I’m angry that I can’t be honest with myself.

I’m angry that I have to learn how to not be angry. I’m angry that I have to do all this and my abuser gets to do nothing but be his selfish pigheaded self.

I’m just angry.

It’s not like I plan to be angry all the time. Being this angry gets to be exhausting too.

I am noticing that therapy is helping. I’m not as angry all the time and things make more sense now.

But I’m still angry.

I’m trying to write down exactly what I feel in this moment and write down what is exactly going on in my head.

All things that I don’t get to say.

So what do I have to say?

What do I want to say?

I’m mad at world for not caring about survivors as much as they say they do.
I hate those stupid motivational memes on facebook like “god helps you be strong” or “Jesus walks with you through hard times” my *** he does. And those memes don’t mean ****.

And all those people that share awareness but do nothing more then click a like button or share a post ******* too. You’re just as bad. You don’t care about survivors.
I don’t see you down in the trenches helping those in need.

I didn’t see you, when I was going through the hardest time in my life.

And ******* too professor storyteller. All that ******* of I help survivors and my heart bleeds for them because my own mother was a survivor.

I tried opening up to you and you completely dodged me.

I had faith in you and you let me down.

I needed help.

But my emotions was too much for you handle.

You like how people see you as a knight in shining armor when there is crowd.
But when it came down to put up or shut up you completely ran away.

So you get the biggest middle ******* finger I could ever ******* hold.
If I had a billboard I post it for the world to see.

I hope I stay in your mind for all your days as the truth of who you really are.

You and I both know that you’re a beacon of light for all liars with false hopes.

You and that high horse you rode in on can go ******* into the sunset.

You should be exposed for every time you step foot into a domestic violence meeting or awareness event as the coward who ran away.

You should be seen with a scarlet letter.

You’re worse than my abuser.

You offered hope when you had none to give.

You lied to me and you should be held accountable for those lies and the false hope you spread.

Like I said the world doesn’t want to hear a word of our grieving and healing stage.

They only want the juicy details like gossip.
So who’s really the aggressor?