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. The morning after
When I told my mother
That he made me touch him
She took my to the bathroom
To wash my hands -
Because he made me
*****
With his essence
Now that I am older
That
crime
still lives on my skin
And in my mind
I can't help but wonder-
If I wouldn't have felt so soiled
Had everyone not told me
That I was that way
I was just a little girl
With big blue eyes
But I understood right then
That *** meant grime
They tell me that it's not my fault
That I had no part in the scene
It severed the ties in my mind
That made me a part of the thing
Now I still don't connect emotionally
During ***

Instead I simply submit-
Because that's as close to love
As I'll ever get
.
Nothing says I love you like swollen lips and saliva dripping down my chin. Do you like me when I'm messy and wild with my hair remembering your fingers? Pornstars smile when they ****, but I beg instead. I arch for you so beautifully. When my cheek is pressed to the sheets and you take a handful of my hair and force me to curve - that's dedication. I entertain for you. Wear pretty lace for you. I get on top on bottom on my side on my knees for you. I want abuse from you. Leave rope burns on my wrist. Leave welts on my ***. I want you to rip my hair from my head. Why don't you spread me out for you? Why don't you push my boundaries? I'm ******* but you don't mean it. I don't want comfort. I want aching shoulders and rope tracks. I want handprints on the inside of my thighs. I want to* hurt. *Last night I was begging you to break me. I wanted to feel you today. I wanted there to be holes in the walls and blood in my mouth. I wanted all the hate I've been carrying to come out of my mouth while I screamed your name. But you don't hate me. And I don't "make love." Because Lord knows I can't love you without my clothes on.
Art
. . . I hate everything about what you've done to me; but the art. Good God, the art .. .
Once upon a time I was your canvas. Now you've given me something to put on mine.
It
Even When
My lingerie is
Scattered across the floor
And there are
Rope burns on both my wrists
I am not as tied down
               As I was when there was nothing
                                             Holding me



I can't get away from it
I guess that wasn't the kind of release I was looking for.
I gave you three seasons
But Autumn wouldn't have us
Or rather, you would no longer have me.
In turn, it became my safe Haven,
Autumn.
Needless to say,
Winter has smiled upon us quite early this year.
Time heals all wounds
But there are not enough seconds
In a single day
To erase the stain of you
*I may never gain back all my wasted time
I think I'm depressed
But I don't really know
I can't even feel my fingertips
So how am I supposed to feel my soul?
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