A rabid ******

with a fix from hell

tumbled into sleep

then death she fell



In her head it was hopeless

her heart a broken harp

arm an open wound

her life tragic art



Poisonous mush was relieving

better than so called love

pin ****** kept her breathing

the past weighed too much



On such a day I feel sorry

she never stood a chance

addiction was the corollary

of the waltz she had to dance

On my walk home after night shift,
I stumbled on something horrific,
I saw him through the dark mist,
So surreal yet unrealistic.

Against time i began the race,
Went to see if he still drew breath,
But it was clear by the colour of his face,
That he lay there cold in death.

I know i shouldn't have, but some how i did,
Pulled a note from his right breast pocket,
I dont know why, but i opened it,
It was neatly titled "To be forgotten"...

Confused i started to read,
I soon realized it was a letter,
Started to feel i couldn't breathe,
As it couldn't have been written better!

If i am to be found by one,
One as unlucky as you,
If you find me and my life is done,
Please take just a second or two.

My name is not important,
As it was not important in life,
I've been called names of assortment
Even "Savage" once or twice.

I tried my best and it all fell apart,
See i did not have a home,
I lead my life by following my heart,
And i ended up alone.

If ever i could, i always did,
Give to someone in need,
A teen, a dog, an elder or kid,
In hope i might just plant a seed.

Each day I'd watch my brothers and sisters,
Run to or from their life demands,
I'd sit and rub my blisters,
On my feet and on my hands.

Nothing truely important is real or being looked after,
Where are the trees? Where is the love? The music of genuine laughter.
Nothing made me angry as i understood it all,
Reasons behind reasoning, I lay down and you stand tall.
Life was life. It is what it is. I'm not anything but at peace.
Just want someone to know its not a problem if i am to decease.
Nobody cared for me, especially not as i did for others,
I do not have any caring sisters, friends nor brothers.
Use of me what you can, then dispose of me the cheapest,
Because even though I was not loved, for my people i feel the deepest.

Poor soul who find me laying here,
May i ask you one small request?
For me please shed a single tear,
Feel a small pain in your chest.

Let your soul grieve a loss,
As mine will fly on through,
This request is free of cost,
Rather asking of what's inside you.

For me you do not need to pray,
Nor need to think of me often,
Just kindly see my soul away,
For i know i lived to be forgotten.

The touch that is so desired by me
That i am finally able to see
This is what i have been missing.
Voices so clear but not so near
Oh honey, you are so dear
To my heart that didn't happen from the start
But now it is.
Thank you sparks.

You see my love,
My worth has not been a priority
Within all of my relationships it was delegated seniority
But why?
My beauty and my grace
Were never seen past a pretty face.
But with you i feel safe.
With you im home.

No matter how near nor far
My heart will follow you wherever you are
What may be wanted may not be true,
But i do know, no one is as good as you.
You see here lover, you instilled a confidence inside
To where never again do i want to hide
When i was born to stand out
In the middle of any crowd, and for that, i say thank you.

Thank you lover.

I'm not quite sure when I first realized this body didn't belong to me.
12 years old, just a child, running down the street,
I "recieved" my first catcall.
Middle school me, masked by insecuirty, appauled,
Confused by the meaning behind this "gift" given to me.
Now, everywhere I turn, still a child at 15,
My insecuirty masked by makeup that defines my beauty,
I'm faced with whistles and comments that "raise my self-esteem."
I walk into a store alone and assess the face of everyone who passes by,
Wonder if my shirt is cut too low, or my pants too tight,
Because when I wear something I like, I'm inviting guys to stare at my ***.
Right?

8th grade, I first discovered leggings,
Comfort classier than sweatpants but easier than jeans,
Barely 13, I turn around to "**** Alyssa, who knew you had a *****?"
Harassed daily in the halls by fist bumping boys who made no effort to hide the fact that I was the subject of their conversation.
But attention was attention,
I didn't know I was supposed to care my body was the only thing on display.
The year my best feature turned from my eyes, or my hair, or my smile,
To solely my body.
The year compliments were no longer for my new outfit, but instead my figure.
The year my leggings invited countless guys to add me on Snapchat just to start a conversation with,
"Your *** looked good today."
Classy.

The world is a camera and I'm stuck in the frame,
Hopelessly on show for others to watch,
Wondering if I look alright,
Hoping I didn't blink.

Even now, I find myself turning around,
Making sure I look good in my jeans.
But this body doesn't belong to me,
I never look good just for me to see,
Because I was taught at age 12 that boys will be boys and only care about the outside.
Boys are supposed to look at my backside.
Recently I came to this realization and questioned why I was ever flattered by a comment on my body in a certain garment.
Why I readjusted push up bras and high waisted jeans to impress the boy in my dreams.
When I asked this question outloud, I was faced with "I can't help the fact you have a nice body."
"It's a compliment. If you don't like it, don't wear tight things."
But now I realize it's society.
Society is the monster that teaches young girls they are toys.
Society teaches ***, catcalls, and harassment to the boys.
I scroll through my Instagram feed, and posts show me that I am supposed to look nice.
For a man.
Because what's the point in wearing a bikini if a man doesn't see?
Right?
Wrong.

Standing in front of me in my mirror is a body marked by society.
Makeup that makes my skin and eyes pretty, society put that brush in my hand and taught me to paint.
Hair frying under heat,
Clothes that show my best features, according to society.
Now its 6:33 in the morning, I've been up for two hours, I'm blow drying my hair and wondering why the hell I care.
A body on show for everyone else to see,
This body doesn't belong to me.

I wear this face like armor
Painting it with the blood, sweat, and tears
Of those who dare to come after me
These colors are not a mating call
But a warning
They distract
They scream
"My touch is toxic"
"My taste is like poison"
I am not the beautiful flower
I am the stinging bee
This war paint is not for you
It is for me