"It's hard to see God through a curtain of bombs."

Sitting out side crying
Because I don't feel like my best friend lives me like she used too
I came I've here because I was depressed
And I needed her
But her boyfriend came over
And now it's one on the morning and he's still here
And I'm crying on her back porch
Wanting to go home
But it's too late to ask my mom

She tried to drop out of school
And I still supported her
She's been my best friend for four years on the 2141st of October
But what if I can't handle four more years

Sitting on her back porch crying
I have no one to talk to
And no where to go
My only comfort is writing

Writers blovk is a **** block between pen and paper
I stole that line from a friend and I think she stole it from a writer
Writers block is so universal it even affects people who don't write
Pen to paper
All I want to do is write
I'm desperate to write about anything at this point
I'm trying to write a book
I've got fifty pages of pure poetry
And lines of future poems
I've said before I'm an unfinished poetry piece
and when I'm polished I will have skin made of stories told over centuries

Monsters in your diaphragm
you scream out your rhymes so loud
trying to find a spell
strong enough that will
expel these hiccups
putting spaces in your words.

Tying your tongue up in knots
writer's block has got you hooked
up to an IV flowing creativity.

Like a ****** addict
trying to forget the screams.
IV pumping fluid into his
veins repressing the memories.
Trying to dig them into the mud
but you see when you do that
they just harden over time
get stuck in your memory
like scars on the suicidal
mental patient trying to cut
her jugular.

See I've been to a mental hospital.
You share secrets of how the wet
towels give you friction burns and
leave scars deeper than
your nails can.
Like on the transgender girl,
Staff referring to her with her
former pronoun,
I swear I've never see a deeper
mental breakdown.

They all regret everything they've seen.
hid what happened to them deep inside.
But let me tell you.
I've been *****.
It wasn't in a dark alley,
I wasn't hog-tied and no gun
was held to my head.
But it was just as
traumatizing. I know that the way
he took my body and made it his
was wrong. But his abuse is mine.
What he did to me is mine.
I can hold the anger I have in my hand,
squish it like play dough. I can
shape it into a knife and stab him
deeper than he injected me with
his controllingness.

Moral of this ****** up poem
is to let it out. Understand that ****
happens and it ******* *****
and none of it was your fault.
But do not let it control you.
The situation held you in bounds for
as long as it could.
Do not stay with your hands behind
your back just because you're scared
the handcuffs are still there.
You can take the memories so deep in
your mind and make them cement
underneath your feet
as ground to stand on.
Grow bigger than you ever have.
And let your abuser know it's because
they broke you.
You just fixed your bones with
titanium, and now they can't touch you.

I'm just a hand me down friend,
You grew out of me like your loose split ends.

From the day I was born, I have been your shadow.
Hidden in the dark, shaded by your existence.
Always the last one to be noticed when we are together.
No matter who noticed us, rather it be our
Friends or Family
Our own parents notice you first
Always.
I'm the one who is just
There
And you, well you are in the spotlight
Everywhere.