will i allow one year to pass?

will i go out to dinner and celebrate my weakness
celebrate my futility
smell the roses
that reek of decay

maybe i will.
and then in march
celebrate the day he forced his hand down my pants
in april, the day he taught me to use my mouth
in july, the day he popped what he fondly called
the christian girl's "buttcherry" to his friends
or september, the day i was so desperate to remember how to feel
that i tried to jump start my heart
by letting him finally take my virginity

guess what?
it didn't work.
it made it worse.

now i wait for the searing, pounding, aching anger
to remind me that a heart beats in its empty, echoing cavity
anger is the only thing that reminds me i am human
that i have the capability to feel
to be hurt, but not to be vulnerable
no,
to be hurt, and to hurt in return.
yes, this is what makes my heart beat again.
this is what keeps me alive
i thrive on the thought that he will suffer for what he did
like i suffered
for what
he
did

life isn't fair, is it?

i didn't know burn marks could be deep like cuts
until i held metal in fire and pressed it to my wrist.

you kiss these cuts that you caused
keep telling me it will be ok
it will not.
it will not be ok.

"it will be ok" is **** people say
to crying people
not
dying people
i wish you knew
that you
killed me

slip through new cracks this time
cracks you had no idea existed until you pulled the classic
'look through boyfriends messages while he's sleeping'
a game you're too ashamed to admit you play.

it's not just you
you aren't the only one who objectified me
you taught me how
now i do it for you.

trembling
shaking
horror
freezing cold on your couch at 4am
i discovered that you are a monster.
something that i knew when i first met you
but ignored.

i will hit my head
until it stops remembering
and saying

you should have known
you should have known
you should have ******* known

i was slicing my ******* wrists open because of what you did to me
what you made me
i was smashing my ******* head against cement walls and crying and thrashing and screaming for nights on end
endless turmoil that removed my ability to ******* feel

...and you
you were bragging to your friends
took her **** virginity
on the floor of her father's (the pastor's) house
while he was upstairs sleeping
she begs for my **** in her mouth
for me to blow all over her face
i finally fully corrupted my christian girlfriend
you said
**** waiting she practically jumped on my ****

you ******* bragged while i ******* tried to **** myself
while i ******* watched blood leak out of my ******* body
while i ******* pressed lit ******* matches into my wrist
you
*******
bragged
that you
****** ME.

singing your guts out on stage...
musical throw up that people like to get splashed with
gushing
rushing
pounding in your chest
standing straighter than you ever have before
four
hundred people standing to their feet to applaud the glorious beast
that just burst forth
from your
lungs

i used to care about things.

like whether or not you messaged me back
or why it is wrong to swallow glass
and choke up prisons.

i used to care about people who traced triangles from the burn marks on their wrists
and now i am one of them.

i used to care if i looked pretty at every angle
i used to bend my neck until i felt stabbing pains
so you would keep telling me how beautiful i am.

i guess some things never change. especially those things.
i guess some things are just universal

just like truth isnt.