Remember the time you tried to **** me?
Yeah, the time you took a knife from the kitchen drawer
You tried to break down the door
And you tried to **** me.

Remember the times you screamed?
Yeah, the times you would punch holes in the walls
You screamed you would **** us all
Yet you never did.

Remember the time you told me to **** myself?
Yeah, the time I was keeping your door closed
You were screaming for me to let you out
That's when you screamed it.

Remember the night you saw me crying on the roof?
Yeah, the time you told me to just 'shut up'
You told me I was being too loud
You didn't know I was about to jump.

“I can kiss your boots. I can stoop to levels you wrinkle your nose at. I’m **** and you can’t get much worse than ****. I’m the lowest of the low, so good luck trying to be worse than me. For I’ll praise you just to get the chance to slit your throat. You can’t bring yourself to be kind to the other side, you can’t bring yourself to be a decent human being. Well, guess what. I’m evil. I’m not decent in any sense of the word. You can give me a knife, tell me to cut a slice of meat, and I’ll slice off your finger for telling me what to do. I’m absolutely terrible. You can top that, but you can’t get lower than the lowest point. You can’t get lower than the bottom.”

I **** at apologies. I mean, I'm the absolute worst person to get in an argument with because I won't ever win and if I do I'll apologize. You could stab me and I'd apologize to you. I always sound passive-aggressive, I don't mean to, I swear. Speaking of swears, I cuss. A LOT. Sorry. So when I apologize, it's not because I'm wrong, it's because you've hurt me too much for me to argue anymore. I'm taught that I have to apologize for everything, I have to be sorry for existing. I don't have a confrontational bone in my body.

I have been given a taste of divinity, of the ether, of magic. I have feverishly consumed the deep, inky black fruit. Its juice drips down my chin and soaks through my clothing, staining it the colour of the darkness behind the stars. I am reaching up, struggling to grasp at another taste. The heavens are toying with me, keeping it out of reach of my greedy fingers. Just far enough that I am starving myself but not too far that I don't keep trying to grasp at the divine.

When I was around twelve years old
My little brother tried to ****** me and my siblings.
I didn't think I would survive until 13 after that.
Because I can still hear the pounding and screaming
When a car passes by.
I can still feel myself covering my ears
And praying the sound of a knife tearing at wood
Would go away.
The knife with my ****** trauma
The knife that has almost killed me five times
Still lays in the kitchen drawer.
I can remember taking 911 off speed dial
Last
Year.
Red and blue police lights
Filling my vision
Whenever I have an anxiety attack
Because I saw them too many times.
I can still tell you the different hiding places
I found while searching
For a place to hide in case
He ever tried to **** me again.
It was been around two years since then.
I am not okay.
I am stuck in a household that is loud
And painful
And traumatizing me more and more
With every mistake I make.
I am put in a place that is designed to trigger my anxiety.
I am not okay.
But I am

Healing.

Ḁ̷̘̘͗͂͒̀̋͝r̵̡̢̛̗̭͉̫̳̈̃ḛ̶̯̟͒͊̊̓ ̴̨͖̲͇̖̭̜͖͕̿͋͝y̴͇̘̩̯̐͂͐̍͝͝ͅơ̴̺̭̝͈͚̜͚͎͐̏͐̑̐̎̃̕ͅu̷͔͒ ̵̝͖̻̼͎̥̬̼͒̇͊p̶̨̘̲̻̒̊̇̈̿̊̋̚͝͝r̵̨͇̟̙̺͛̇̃̔͌̓́̚o̸̙̜̜͙̜̫̮̮̹͂̓̐̎̈́͝͠u̶̦̒­̡̖͍̤̖̻̲ḍ̸̡̲̰̖͍͉͇̫́͂̓ͅ ̶̱̠̮̌ǫ̴̗͇̬̮͕̭̳̹̑̂̋͋̓͑̉̈̕̕f̶̨̝̺͉̪̗̱̙͙̭̑̍̾̈́̂ ̶̡̗̱̺̤̱͔̔̒͐m̶̟̦̹͚̹͙͎̳̦̩̑͗͆̓̔̈́̍͒͝e̴͓̙͈̘̮͉̰̅̈́̓̇͘ ̵͎͍̳͌y̶̲̪̬͙̟͎̻͑͐́͂͋̒͗̃̚̕͜ͅë̷̼͈̫̽̓͒͜t̷̠̺́̉͐̈́̑?̷̮̑͠͠