(I wrote a new poem and it really means something to me so I thought I would share it.)


I want you to make love to me,
But not for why you think.
It’s not just for lust,
Or just a feeling my body craves.

I want you to make love to me
Because I crave to feel all of your skin
Pressed against my own bare flesh.

I want you to make love to me
To calm all of the thoughts in my head
That try to make me doubt your pure intentions.

I want you to make love to me
And speak beautiful words from your perfect lips,
So they can drift into my ears like music.

I want you to make love to me
Because I long for the light touch,
And kisses that will come before the fire.

I want you to make love to me,
While I tell you all these rough fantasies,
But want this at the very same instant.

I want you to make love to me
As I admire just how handsome you are,
Through the light shining in through the window.

I want you to make love to me
So I will be held and taken care of
Once you have ruined me in the best ways.

I want you to make love to me
Because I want you to understand
Just how much love I will always have for you.

I want you to make love to me
For all of these alternate reasons.
But I have no words to speak to make you realize what I mean.
So I wrote you this stupid poem instead.


I love you

I am the black sheep,
Just like in the rhyme.
I am different, but everything is always asked of me.

I have no more wool to give,
Or energy to offer you.
What more do you expect from my bare soul?

I have torn everything I loved away from me.
Everything that made me who I am,
Just to give it to you.

Are you satisfied?
Are you happy with holding the weight of my burdens?

I hope you are.
Because even if your weren't,
You would only give it back with threadbare cracks and half of it missing.

I lived in a vast darkness.
A fragile silence that even choked sobs could break.
But the black glass of quiet shattered,
When you battered the door.
Its hinges screamed,
Just as you did.
I cowered in the corner when I heard the bottle explode,
From where you threw it.

Then it was a blur.
Threats to give me a "real reason" to cry.
More glass smashed against the oak, before it collapsed onto the tile floor.

A sudden clarity filled me as I heard the click of a lock.
You had trapped me here.
The dark I had once longed to be in became a cage.

I screamed.
Begged.
Clawed the wood until my fingers bled and the paint peeled.
But you stomped away,
Leaving me in a suffocating blackness.

Time had passed differently then.
A day had become weeks,
But also a second.
Hunger consumed me and I was left to rot in my own filth.
The acrid smell from the bottles on the other side of the door burning my nose.

I don't know how long I was in there.
I don't know if I'll ever find out.
I don't know if I'll ever be the same again.

I still sleep with a light on,
And I still sleep with my room door open.
And I refuse to open the hall closet
That you put me in as a punishment,
For accidentally breaking a small vase.

I feel Hollow.
Barren.
Empty.

That hollowness erodes my body,
leaving a trail of decay.
Cracks crawl through my brittle bones,
shattering my skull,
fragmenting my thoughts.

A carmine-colored river floods into my caving lungs,
before dragging itself up my throat.
The metallic taste slowly overwhelms my mouth,
and seeps through my gapped teeth.
My glass smile falls and shatters.

Terror grips what was once my voice,
holding sound captive-
my call for help erased by despair.
Only strangled sobs exist.
I'm left choking on my own life force.

Each sob collects upon my face;
a veil of tears cover my broken visage.
Shrouding me from prying eyes that encompass judgemental gazes.

Without even seeing,
their stares spear my soul and blacken my heart.
The forgotten, grayed ash
smothers out all that remains.

My rotted husk: a void, a dismal skeleton.
A vast emptiness that nothing can fill.

Broken.
Decayed.
Hollow.

It's what I am.

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I'm drowning
In the words
Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch
Shutting down...

Mute chats?
Yes
Mark all as read?
Yes

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