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

True beauty is indescribable
All you can do when faced with true beauty is stare
It is a shame when staring is considered rude
In reality when someone stares it means they are intrigued by another’s beauty
A beauty that forces you to stare
Can not be seen from the outside of one's heart
Only when a heart is on the edge of breaking can it love someone enough to stare into the meaning of breaking their heart
In turn breaking holds a beauty like no other.

You are "DEPRESSED" when you still have

" the inexhaustible willpower to fight back every time you are lost in the abyss of all possible existential threats"

If not then you are CLINICALLY DEPRESSED.

You are STRESSED when

"You are mentally torn into pieces, loathing everything in the world and still love yourself. you know you can resurface anytime.
All you need is spend some hours, maybe days in solitude, talking to yourself, reassessing and coming back with a better plan."

If you cannot, then you are CLINICALLY STRESSED.

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.

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

Every night you lay down beside me,
I tuck you in, cover you up.
Do you need anything?
How about some water, are you thirsty?
Some nights you let me drift off peacefully,
You rub my back, play with my hair.
Some nights you keep me up,
Whispering secrets to me as the hours go by.
I tell you my hopes and dreams.
They always make you giggle.
I tell you about a new boy,
You tell me I'll never be good enough
for a good man.
You tell me that if I keep dating guys that hurt me,
I can't hurt them.
I tell you I want to help people,
You ask what I ever did for you.
I ask you to leave,
Please go to the closet where
everyone else's skeletons live.
But you take my hand and pull
me back into bed with you.
The worst of lovers.
You wrap your arms around me,
Tell me it'll be okay,
Tell me you'll always be there,
You'll never leave me,
I'll never have to be alone.
I give in to you, I succumb,
I know no other way.
And then,
Just so I don't forget who I am,
You look me dead in my eyes
As you pop another one,
You're my favorite destruction you tell me,
And I cry myself to sleep.