It's against my policy
To get too close
To go too far
To feel your touch

It's against my personal code
To desire
To give myself away
To long for your company

It's against my guidelines
To believe in true love
To become infatuated
To yearn for your affection

I didn't make my own rules
I just abide by them
I'm sorry, but doing anything else
It's against my policy

you drink to fight off the world
i get high to forget what life has done to my soul
everybody has an escape from what they fear

dragons have dug their talons into me, dragging and ripping away my flesh
leaving new scars

lightning struck you, leaving a beautiful disaster in its wake
a disaster that has altered my view on breathing the air i do

i am cancer
i am death caked in makeup
i am the creaky floor boards in the attic
i am the foul words that leave your mothers lips
and the stench of the alcohol that rolls off your fathers tongue

i creep through the walls at night
looking for a light heart to help with the demons that haunt my every move
i am torturous laughter and pitiful silence

dont not get close to me
i will burn everything you own
leaving you bitter and weeping
gasping for fresh air

I used to write about being untouched
and how I was like the world
with pure intentions.
You took that from me,
I can't really put the blame on you,
I might as well of put a bow on it
and a tag addressed to you.
I'm not sure I made the right choice.

I used to write about going unnoticed
and like the clouds slowly moving,
I held beauty, I was there, secretly.
I gave that to him.
I had my doors locked and the key hidden,
but he was actually really good at picking locks,
he told me that my house wasn't fit for me, dangerous,
a year later it burned down.

my point is,
I used to write about a lot of things.
but I'm newer now,
You and him took the only things I had going for me,
He, with my best intentions,
and you, with yours.

I cannot say that you don't love me
But I swear you stay a few seconds less every time
And  I find you leaning away
more often than leaning in
And your hand fumbles for my zipper
More than it does for my hand
And I know you say you love me
But I also know you thought you loved her
You tend to say things you don't mean often

We live in a world where no means convince me and flirting is a green light for ***.
Where women are told, don't get ***** and men are rarely told, don't ****.
Where **** shaming is encouraged and victims are blamed.
Where speaking out about **** is a call for attention and **** victims are silenced.
We live in a world where **** culture is normal and that is **unacceptable.

I still remember that night. I remember how I felt before it happened more vividly than how I felt after. I think I remember it so well because that was the last time I ever felt whole.
My shorts were short
my ******* were wet
my sweet little cherry had yet to be popped.

Your intentions filled the room as I admired the spit drool on the side of your lips. The uneasy smirk on your face. You wanted a lot more than to "just get laid." I was far too young to even begin to understand the parts of my body you knew not to touch.

As you kissed me down my neck and your manhood grew harder, my spine quivered and my fear shook. My mother always told me to follow my gut and when I did you grabbed me and you told me not to listen to it. You told me to ignore what I didn't want for the sake of your temporary pleasure. You disregarded my comfort and put your **** ahead of my feelings.

You yanked my legs open and your ripped me into two pieces, and till this day I have yet to find the other half you stolen from me, and I swear I almost see it everyday when I stand ahead of myself naked infront of my mirror but I can never stare at myself long enough to grab me in and make myself whole again.

Do you see what you have done to me? Was each stroke of stolen pleasure worth every jump I make when the man I love touches me with permission? Was your everlasting ******, sounds of moans and sighs escaping from your lips, echoing in my stomach and spilling out in my tears worth me cutting myself open every night since?

I guess it was because at least I'm giving myself permission opening myself up. At least the pain has consent. At least the blade dragging across my skin silenced the sound of your pleasure inside of me. At least the blood from my wrist dripping onto the bathroom floor isn't mixed with your ***.

At least I have the choice to put just a little more pressure in and I wont have to be reminded of you anymore.