Sometimes I wonder
If a knife to the
stomach would
make everything
disappear into
a painless
oblivion.

Every time a man gets too close
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of when He touched me.
A mere 12 years old,
lying asleep in bed.
So scared to utter a word,
too terrified to tell mommy.

Every time another woman confides in me,
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of when He hid in the walls.
Watching a little girl change,
thinking of what He'd do later.
Too selfish and perverted
to realize the impact He'd have on her.

Every time a boy gets too close,
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of when He had touched me.
When He had gotten too close; too handsy.
I cannot unfeel what he did,
Not even after 5 years.
The scar is forever sealed under my skin.

Every time I see that car,
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of Him and His Molestation.
And I cannot help but to wish
that somehow, some way, He had been arrested.
But instead, the man walks free.
And now He lives in a house of little girls,
and the blame rests on me.

Just when I thought I couldn't be any more alone,
you took a step back, leaving me in total isolation.
And while I understand what you're going through,
It still tears me apart, piece by piece by piece.
You don't think yourself capable of loving anyone,
meanwhile I gave you every single bit I had stored away.
Now, my eyes can't stop leaking and I feel entirely numb.
I slowly begin rebuilding my walls, this time reinforced,
so that maybe this time they won't be breached so easily.

I don't know what's wrong with me.
Right now, I'm too aware of my unscathed skin.
I want to pierce it, I want to tear it.
To see if my emotions will seep out,
so that I won't have to deal with them

I was told I ruin everything-
Every friendship, relationship, or in between.
I give every small piece of me,
rarely asking for any reprieve-
and yet I still manage to ruin it.
Every single time.
I keep taking the blame,
because I know your shoulders are weak,
and while I may be struggling,
you are certain to crumble under the weight.
For now I’ll continue to carry your mistakes,
but I ensure you that I won’t always.
I’ll eventually clear this weighted plate.

I want
to create
a painting
of blood
showing every
last stab
of pain
I received
from you

And forever she sat, alone on the edge.
Waiting for someone she knew to be dead.
While simultaneously still holding the hope
That someone, anyone, would give her a shove.
So she could fly, and play pretend
while losing herself to the void within.

Am I too fat, or too skinny?
Am I too loud, or too quiet?
Am I too tall, or too short?
Am I too happy, or too sad?
Am I too outgoing, or too shy?
Am I too rich, or too poor?
Am I too tan, or too pale?
Am I too ugly, or too pretty?
Am I too much, or too little?

If you're going to tell me
What society thinks I should be
Then at least set a realistic standard.

Believe me, I know.
I know you have a Girlfriend.
A Girlfriend who deserves more.
Deserves more than your nasty thoughts.
Your nasty thoughts that drove even me away.
Me away to the opposite end of the page we had made.

I may not be gone,
but really I am.
My heads lost,
travelling worlds and over seas.
I'm simply a shell,
moving place to place,
never truly finding a spot to stay.
Words spill out of my mouth,
but really, I have nothing to left to say.
I may not be deceased,
but honestly, I would rather be.

I feel like I'm living in grey.
The things that once made me spiral
Into a mess of tears or jump for joy
Don't seem to have any affect on me.

Im neither happy, or sad.
I'm just in a constant state
Of numbness, and I wish...
I wish I knew if this was the calm
Before an ugly black storm.

Dear me,
You're not good enough,
nor will you ever be.
It's your fault you know,
you didn't speak.
Maybe as a child you were asking for it,
but those other girls weren't.
They shouldn't experience what he did.
Those touching hands in places they shouldn't be.
The psychological terror of being called a liar.
The fear of it happening more, and more,
The memories crashing back every time a boy got close.
You let them get put in that same spot.
You helped him get away with it.
It's all your fault, so no.
You're not good enough,
you will never be.
You are trash, and nothing will change that fact.
Sincerely,
Me

Are you ******* stupid?
Are you emotionally impaired?
Do you understand im dying?
Do you wish I wasn't here?
When will you hear me?
When will it become clear?
Am I so unwelcome that nobody'll ever care?

I cannot pinpoint what direction it's coming from.
Something is wrong, It feels off,
like something is bound to explode or erupt.
I'm scared, despite waiting for it to happen.
I'm ready, but I know it'll hurt me.
So now I anticipate the coming storm,
with my anxiety and depression keeping me company.
But hey, at least I'm alone,
so no one else will have to worry, and
no one will be inconvienced by the bullets that are about to destroy me.

I have never felt more alone than I do now.
Everyone keeps disappearing,
Leaving me to confide only in my demons.
Demons who poke, ****, and pry at my mind;
Convincing me that I don't belong.
Convincing me that I am useless.
Convincing me that I need to disappear.

Everywhere I turn
there's no one.
And it's suffocating me,
this deafening emotional silence.
It's wrapping around me tightly,
refusing to let me breathe in the happenings around me.
Sooner or later,
it'll get too tight,
squeezing me into a void where I've no need for air.
And, I'll be happy to be there.

One:  *******.
Two: I'm stupid.
Three: Can we end this?

Am I invisible?
It really feels that way.
I watch all these people interact all around
and I'm in the middle of it all
but though I'm right there
noone hears my voice
or senses my presence.
I'm just alone
it's just me,
but i'm surrounded by so many bodies.
And they're talking, smiling, laughing.
and I'm breaking and waiting
for someone to just acknowledge me.

I never knew I'd feel something worse than a stab in the back.
Something worse than being lied to when you already know the truth.
Something more wretched than watching your love die day by day.
Something so horrible, that I hid the pain.
No, you're right.
You didn't take a blade to my back
Instead, you set a fire to my soul and watched it go up in flames.
You destroyed my will to think for myself or love or hurt or enjoy.
You burnt the very thought of happiness to a crisp.
And left me to stumble through life, numb and betrayed.

Memories long since past are spilling out as if a flood was beginning.
I see each one, every single one.
I  had forgotten your old habits, tricks, and tips.
I had wanted to forget those beautiful, deadly things.
It only draws me in, like a warm blanket and a hot cup of chocolate.
It draws me in and makes me think.
Think about what old habits, tricks, and tips people associate with me.
I slowly fell asleep, for once thinking about myself.
Yet the next morning my thoughts were back to you,
a never endless routine.

Its only now that I realize people only tolerate me.

Im not close to anyone in particular, in fact they're lightyears away.

Lately I’ve been struggling with my body.
I am not skinny enough: I’m chubby.
I’m not feminine enough: I’m ugly.
I’m not masculine enough: I’m frumpy.
I cannot look at myself.

I try so hard to clear my mind and breathe,
but my brain speaks too often.
The words don’t connect with one another.
They’re all over the place.
From one to the next–I cannot focus.

I wasn't even aware I had these feelings for you until you decided you loved her. Guess it's too late now.

You make me so happy
And I hope that I can return
Just a fraction of that happiness
Back to you because
Youre an amazing person.
And you deserve to be happy.
And I love you so much.

A swirl of need, want, and terror resides within me.
I need to connect,
I want to connect;
however, the connection inspires my innermost fears
to come slinking out of the dark
showing their faces
and grinning as I become
hopelessly afraid.
Unfortunately,
if this terror persists,
I fear that I may soon
come to an end.

When I was younger
I'd have never thought
that life could be this cruel;
However, as I've grown older
I've realized many key facts,
one of which being that,
it seems to have
just as many joys as it has sorrows.

I don't worry as much,
which is strange to me.
I'm not constantly thinking about you,
and that's probably a good thing.
You were my best love,
and it's okay that we're just friends.
I don't hurt anymore,
I've given in to the numbness within.

I remember the memory
Of that silver blade
Flitting across my pale skin.
I remember the pain,
And the emotional anguish,
That led me to commit the act.
I remember the repulsive thoughts
That led me to believe
that I was not enough.
I remember that it was easier,
To cut and have real pain,
Rather than something that wasnt concrete.
I remember how hard it was
To curb the addiction
That I had developed.
I remember it all.