the human mind frightens me.
i wish i knew less of what was in yours

what electric letters dart across the thick white pages
hatred
and self loathing
and always,
always pity...

the sick part of you that takes pleasure in hanging the deprivation of my innocence around my neck
the albatross i shot the day your hand was rough against me.

always my fault.
forever the blame lies at my feet
like a tired, attention-seeking dog

i deserved what happened to me.

one year since i made the worst decision of my life
(worse than ryan ever was.)

2014, the year i was molested
the year i decorated my arms and thighs
with a knife
and a cigarette lighter.

2014, a year of ups and downs
commemorated by the first time you shoved your hand down my pants, held my face down on your ****, pushed me up against a wall with your hand up my shirt

...how does one celebrate such a year?
dinner?
a movie?
flowers?
gifts?
more *** that i don't want?

sounds about right.

excuse me if i don't feel like
celebrating,
boyfriend.

expect that you won't know what to do with yourself for a while.

expect that you'll be timid and untrusting and reluctant.
expect that people will want an explanation
and that you won't want to give them one.

expect that weekends will make you gnash your teeth and rip your clothes
expect that maybe you'll feel sorry
that maybe you'll want to break the sacred silence that fell like a blanket over your heads
comforting to you
stifling to him...

expect to be afraid of the future.
expect to miss the good parts of him...


expect to someday feel alright again
and realize that this is the first step.

i remember being scared that my father would discover i cut myself.
i remember the day that he did.
trying to cram the screaming baby into his highchair dad saw the mark on my arm and i told him
it was from a marker
he demanded to see it again
and so dad found out that sometimes praying isn't enough.

i don't remember being afraid that dad would find out about the things moose did to me
...i guess i can't say that
i guess i have to say the things we did together
(but i will always lay the blame at his feet
for beginning things
that first night.)
even now, i am not afraid
even now when i truly believe that dad knows what happened
even now when dad gently pats me before he goes up to bed
and says don't forget
to
repent
i am not afraid.
i am ashamed.

empty carcass christmas
green in every way
(green around
the gills)
christmas tree is just something we killed and stuffed and hung up
just like the love
my mother claimed she had for me

just a photo on a ***** refrigerator that i never look at

merry christmas.

having trouble sleeping lately.

the crater in my wrist i made with the hot point of a lighter
wants me to crawl in
sleep among the blood vessels
thinking maybe they'll heal my empty chest

lost everything in one year.

it's alright, im used to it.
lost everything before,
will lose everything again,
most likely.

not a sacred bone
left in me
a desecrated temple
a ravaged flower
a broken urn.
nothing left to fill
nothing left to taste
sawdust,
luke warm water
in his mouth
he will spit me
out.

i can't remember the last time i felt alright...
like things were working out.

because after mom it was ryan
and after ryan it was skyler,
and after skyler it was moose
and after moose
there was no God.

now my stomach cannot even bear me
it threatens to crawl up my throat
my insides contort and scream
i will not let the pain out.

bones, oh
bones.
how i wish you would hurt instead
like you did
when i was pure.
instead of an ache,
now i rot.

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.

mac 'n cheese
the mother of comfort
put it in my mouth

but no,
gross.

purple broken lantern lights
in the finger numbing cold of this cement cage
white buzzing lights in my face.

mental strain:
an annotated bibliography

you made this.

so revel in your creation, doctor frankenstein,
it was not i who chose to come into being.

you forced me into creation,
and now you must live with my screams in the night
my burnt wrists
and the haunt of a smile that lingers in my eyes -

you did this,
not
me.

today i became small.

just a dot on a campus full of people who don't sit with me at lunch
and small snowflakes that fall to the ground and melt just like i do.

happiness is a conundrum.
with it, i cannot feel content.
when i am sad, i am myself again.

something has changed today -
and it has made me small.
it has shrunk me out of proportion
down to my original size
where i remember what i am.

i remember the way you look from down here.
i remember the tall, garish dollhouse water fountains
and too big tiles for my doll feet
and exaggerated bows for my doll hair.

i am content with cracked surfaces.
i slip into them and feel the warmth of the burning earth below us
and i feel safe
like drinking hot milk when it's snowing outside
melting my insides.

i let you make me small.
i let you make me insignificant.
i like it here.
i remember it here.

my memories waited for me  
to return and lie in the melted lake.

i remember when i was afraid of losing my virginity.

when i struggled as he tried to unzip my pants,
put his hand up my shirt.

i remember when his harsh fingers against me hurt
and i wondered if i was going
to hell.

i remember feeling innocent.
feeling whole, unbroken, unspoiled

most of all i remember sitting on the edge of the bed afterwards,
staring at the empty space in front of me
and waiting
to feel
something -
anything.

i have not felt since. not the sharp cold november air against my freckled skin
nor the happiness that bubbles and froths
nor the pain in my chest
where i know it should be.

so i create my own pain -
my own feeling
i burn the life back into my wrists. shock myself back into
emotion.
like i am doctor frankenstein bringing back to life the monster -

but this boy keeps killing me
over
and over
and
over

that's right.
drink, boy.
drink like it matters
because it did.
drink like you did something wrong
because you did.
drink like i'm crazy for a reason
because i am.

just because i'm your girlfriend
does not mean it wasn't molestation
wasn't ****
you knew
i was frightened
you knew
i didn't want it (a small part did, but does that matter?)
you knew i would be too scared to say no.
because i was a little girl inside
brave face on the exterior
shivering saint interior
you plucked my bud with hard fingers against me
fingerprint bruises on my arm
bitemarks on my neck
the cut marks on my thighs were not your doing
i did those
myself...

redemption is hard to find.

if the soft sweep of hair across my bare shoulder isn't enough to make me feel beautiful
what is?
what is the cost of being comfortable in my own ribcage?

watch the happiness drain from the tip of my head
to my eyes
to my toes
watch it pool around the bottoms of my calloused barefeet
on the cold, ugly brown tile of the dorm bathroom.

the problem with validity is that in order to be of value there must be something below you that is worthless
and many times the skulls of wide-eyed quiet girls will do
to rest your high-heeled tennis shoes on
baton in hand
leading the slaughter ever forward.

inadequacy is a monster that plants itself in the stomach
and grows out of the mouth at an alarming rate
strangling the trembling buds around you...

i would feel better if you knew me before you perpetuated your indelible lack of self-love
i would feel better if there were a reason to crush my bones and knead them into the whitewashed cement of these dorm room walls
built upon the bodies of other quiet girls
seeking solace from the raging personalities
that make up for their raging
inadequacies -

yes,
i play video games.
and i have a decorative knife
that i was not able to hang up
because sticky tac only goes so far.
yes, i am quiet
no, i do not partake in your gossip
or your hate speech
but do not pin me to the wall like the latest bug collection conquest
like you have defeated me

i have a flower growing on my desk that could defeat all of you
if it stooped to your level
beauty is the sharpest sword.

i looked in the mirror today and saw a shape.
not a reflection, a shape
a shape of a body
(my body?)

if my reflection refuses to mimic the actual me
is it
still me?
are those my freckles?
my lips?
my nose?
is she frowning
without me?
can i just no longer feel the muscles in her face twist and contort?





alien

                                        

                     ­                                                image.

there is something ugly about the way you refuse to look at me
something pathetic and guilty and pious.

you refuse to look at me like i'm something you've never seen before
some hideous insect you found under a rock that surprised you
not like you were actually the first person to see me
the first to touch me
the one that carried me in the embrace of your stomach for nine months

the nine months that you took care of me
perfectly.

only because your body did it
naturally
once dispelled
i was on my own.

to the first boy
who broke my first heart
don't worry
i found another one.

to the first bestfriend
who broke my second heart
don't worry
i bought another one.

to my mother
who broke my third heart
don't worry
i didn't bother with making another.

to my future
which i am sure will be just like the past
(we repeat ourselves
into eternity
our collective unconscious
hellbent on being heroes) -
don't worry.
there is nothing to break.
you will have no guilt
and i will have no pain.

snuggling on the couch, watching coraline

your **** shoved in my face
ready to blow
forced in my mouth
almost chalky dry

holding my hand in the store
hugging me tight because mom has a new boyfriend

pushing me against the sink
thrusting in

crying on the couch
you smother me
till i smile

first night i met you
hands down my pants
you asked me to get on top
i said no
it happened
anyway

helping me work my way to college
moving for me
buying me
so many
many
things*

hard **** against my thigh
rubbing
forceful hand against me
too hard
frightened

hugs
kisses
he takes care of me
cries when he tells me how much he loves me
tells me how i saved him
from depression,
suicide
anger

if only to tell you the depression you brought me
like one of the many presents
wrapped tightly
i swallowed
let it spread to my lungs
now i only breathe pain
i did not dissipate the bad parts of you
i consumed them
and now they are mine
to bear

composed entirely of
the simple seduction
of contradictions
i play a fine balancing game.

good vs. evil
happy vs. sad
fine vs. im fine
alive vs. dead
dad vs. mom
sassy vs. mom
sassy vs. the shitshow
sassy vs. hatred

spoiler alert
right wins.

is that
heartburn in my chest
or is the battery acid seeping from my over-charged heart creeping back up
fighting to get out
expel itself from this sinking ship.

you don't ruin everything.
everything ruins someone
and everyone ruins something.
the circle of life
rides its line
ruthlessly
cutting into the track fate laid across my wrists.

you can't recharge dying batteries. leave them alone too long and they leak a hazardous acid
touch it, and it'll eat away at your fingers

just try and take it out of me.
i dare you.
try to make me better.
it'll eat away at you too,
just like it eats me.

when we pray
we pray with folded hands
bended knees  
trying to fit our bodies into a posture that is plea(d)sing.

bitten fingernails that had blood underneath them but minutes before
red ribbons of seeping blood billowing out quiet red veins...
so quiet.
such a quiet
death
it would be.

i pray on knees that i've spent a lot of time on lately.
by choice or by fate
only days before
doing things that i never dreamed i would do.
tears trickle down the side of my face and i dream
of other times
on my knees
in His presence
crying for mercy
that i would soon not deserve.

do i hate the god that resurrects my morality
or the man that abolishes it?

i miss my hair.

i miss feeling healthy.
i miss being able to brush it
and straighten it
even just touch it
without it falling out.

i miss feeling normal
feeling happy
feeling beautiful
somehow he makes me feel not beautiful
maybe it's not even his fault.

march 28th.
things got ****** up then
almost a year ago.
will i let it go a whole year?

i guess it wouldn't be too drastic.
i've already let so many things go.
i don't even remember what i used to be like
this new persona is so consuming.
i miss myself.

smile like you mean it
smile like you can't feel it
smile like the swollen match burns on your wrists smile up at you

do not be afraid of the dark.

the darkness cannot comprehend you.

do not swallow the dark.

it will consume you.

do not welcome it

it will take your offer

gladly

too late to run from it

it leaks out the corner of your eyelids

the corners of your mouth

the vacant ink cartridges.

do you remember how it felt to be whole

to be holy

to be sacred

do you remember how it felt to be pure

were you

ever?

if i wanted that kind of love i'd watch a ******* *****.

i can get that any time
any where.

if there is something growing inside of me i won't **** it
it doesn't deserve it
it didn't do anything wrong
i am the one
who did it wrong
i will ****

me

decide if you are afraid of all the things a person has done.

decide if the reminder of these things is too much for you to handle
even though you are just as guilty.

little poisonous thoughts creep in.
little doubts, little frantic feelings.

little glimpses of the depraved.
am i too
depraved?
was i just pretending all along
was there another path for me
or has the voice of fate
crackled over the stereo
dictating the sway of my hips?

i don't know why people call it making love.
it doesn't feel like love
it feels like fear
it feels like something i swore i wouldn't do
it feels shameful.

i could never tell you.
i could never tell you how much i hate you.


strange ache below my stomach.

who are we to create life?

you really like
labels.

you like being able to say
"i have THIS"
or "i have THAT"
now the therapist can begin a new ritual
a new rain dance
a new prance of prescription
to make me feel better about myself.

dyslexic
anxiety
adhd
PTSD

google is your doctor
informing you of all the ways you are ill
and without a formal analysis
you diagnose yourself
and then inform the world.

you like being able to articulate what is wrong with you
so people will stop accusing other outside forces
of being the cause
like maybe
mommy
problems.

this makes it all easier. because honestly
you don't know
what is wrong with you.
and you don't know
how to make your lungs feel able to breathe alright again
though you profess you do...
and that my lungs are in need of your theripistal jargon as well -
personal salvation at the hands of a 16 year old child.


i have seen more than you.
and the more that i have seen i have even understood better
and fully.

want to get wordy?
i was able to
cognitively deduce the situation
because my brain was fully developed.

tell THAT to your therapist.

finally wrote a poem about me that is nice.
was nice...
will be nice -  
when you stop pitying me.

one nice poem out of
many, many hateful
poems.

you write more flowery than me
maybe even better
i feel that i should struggle with that
be angry with you
my little
sister
taking one more thing that is mine and making it yours

it is ok.
if it makes you happy, makes you feel better, makes you smile, makes you feel accomplished, makes you feel smart, and
ok,
then
it is
ok.
it is even
good. maybe you even need it more than i do.

maybe i don't even need it anymore.
i don't know what i need.
i don't know where my reason went.
i just know that if you are happy,
no matter how disillusioned you are in your happiness,
it is
o
k.

i keep thinking how interesting the inside of my head would look agains my dorm room wall
the taste of cold metal in my mouth
i imagine it would be
quite a sight

in my refusal
i am blantantly womanlike  
i want what i say i do not
i don't want you to convince me
i want you to spontaneously take me
somewhere you think i would like

i am ashamed of my scheme
especially that you are oblivous of it

he gives up on me
too easily
and to my own device i sink.

it's like my life froze in the month of march.

she came in like a lion and centered my entire universe around one person
instead of centering myself
in this universe
that constantly bucks back and forth
trying to tip me off balance...

it finally succeeded.

my compass abandoned ship on the way down
and when i woke up
i realized i didn't know where i was
and had no means of setting a course

now all i have is a boy.
and i don't know where i'm going with him
i don't know how i got to a place where another human is the center for my gravity

i wonder if the sun ever thinks
"how did i end up here?
revolving around some toxic earth...
tricked into giving it warmth?"

my calender has cemented to the wall
march 2014
dusty
abandoned
i stopped noticing the passing of months
or caring

i don't know where my life is going
i'm no longer the one that navigates.

i used to sleep in class

rest my head on my hands
try to stretch my tired back -
exhausted soldier of education
too many 50 minute battles
and borrowed pencils

calves sore from trudging up stairs
pale from the white-lit classrooms
chronic dry mouth from the limp sleep
that we all knew too well

do i want to go back?
do i have the endurance
to stay this time
will i know unless i try?

clutching for knives
in the dark of the kitchen
"what are you doing?"
"nothing."

never used
a serrated edge
it works
too well

sees the cuts on my thigh
still has his way
but it's all fair
i am a tease

pain sparks up my spine
into my scalp
pushes all the little
hair follicles out
can't touch my head
without a handful
coming away
i'm waiting
for it all to be gone
someday

don't leave me alone
with myself
please
not another
night

i feel crazy when i try to explain
and you make me feel ridiculous
silly
full of ****
childish
stupid
but i really
really
want you to understand me

they want to know why your hair falls out

too many trapped thoughts
they creep into the roots
poison them
they
fall
out
red strands
everywhere
fistful at a time
hair thinning
mind winning
i am tired

going crazy inside my own head
no one to talk to
no one will listen to me

am i becoming my mother