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Leila Whitney Jun 2017
Did not want to be known as the girl from the troubled childhood.
The girl who distrusts all men for simply being men.
The girl who convinced herself that friends-
Are pulled pins on the nuclear grenade that is my new life.

Yet my whole life has been built around this,
I moved cause i was hurt,
I hurt because I was moved,
I am an artist because my body no longer has the capabilities to perform in - literally- any sport that contains,
running, speaking, competing, or drawing attention to myself.

I can't change the way I feel about this-

Yet I have accepted that this is not a cage, this-
is the universe that I live in.
The stuttering is my hand held pistol keeping those around me away from my horrors.
My head down, shoulders taunt and fists clenched is my titanium shield,
Do not come close to me
Please, do not touch me or to dust I will turn.

I don't appreciate half cocked pity
Do not pull me close to whisper words of sorrow,
My heartbeat will bang war drums louder than anything you have to say.

Yet do not tell me to get over it, that it's no big deal-

Like the past is just the past
Like these burns don't still contain the very same ash.

Touch me in condolence and you´ll feel the magma under my skin boiling.
Small girl no more,
Far more than hand holding

Gentle smiles form themselves into the overpowering monster that is my mortification.
Don't tell me to sit pretty.
stand tall, smile bigger, walk taller, speak louder,
don't let your past define you!
Did you know healing isn't natural, its a break through!

Don't tell me to live my life like nothing has happened when I can not even look at a face in half cast shadow without running to the door ready for flight,
was never taught fight.

I am trying.
I continuously trying to relearn,
Like planting new flowers in a burnt field.
Digging through memories that feel more like acid, melting my willpower,
Singeing my confidence
And drowning all that I am in pain.

I try to move on but-

This anxiety bubbles in my throats like bulls ready to stampede any chance I have of “moving on”

Let me tell you, I do not feel stronger.
When I doubt my new stepdads intentions, I do not feel stronger.
When I think of the first one, I do not feel any older.
I am still six, and I'm still hiding in a back room, and I´m still frightened-
And I am still so hopeful, that I'm wrong about him
This is very messy ´but I cant seem to find the patience to organize it.
Leila Whitney Jun 2017
You are admired for happiness and life and appearance of youthful adventure.

You are -

This is so obvious.

They do not see how troubled you are.

How hard you are trying to please their expectations.

You sit, cold desk containing-
colder feelings.
Moving is something you must do, not out of wanting but out of-
Cracks forming not from age itself but what age has done to you.
More time to-
More time to-
more time to-

Water spills over the tub that is your willpower.
Those will not see the way it is-
drowning your home,
smudging your smile in old photos,
I tainting your memories with the iron taste of regret.
Most will not see it till it spills from the front door, because walking in without permission is-
frowned upon.

Mirrors show that of a broken person.
Others can not see it because it is a -
You must be the one there, you are the only one who sees it.
Your reflection and your projection seem recognized the same by those around you.

While the cement takes your-
Freezes your-
Pigeon holds your-
And tells you to be content with it 'because hey the neighbors believe it.

'But I am not your neighbor.
I have no obligation to you.
I want to see your soul dancing in the light in your-

You are trapped behind this-
Yet I have seen you anyway.

Speak to me in tongues of-

Let me be your companion because I-
would be so happy to.

A statue although beautiful is not you.
You are the -
Not because of looks or reputation.
I will not sit and applaud you.
I will not wrap you in a red bow and leave you in a burning museum-
even if you would still be standing afterwards.

I want to be with you.
Hold your hand to show that you are-
not alone.

You are art, because you are yourself.
You struggle and you fight and you are still so-

I am your friend, because I will tear down your walls if it'll keep all that you are-
From disappearing.
I wrote this to a boy I was infatuated with. I sent it to him and now he is my best friend.

— The End —