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Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
When I got that anonymous question asking me "why is it when you fool around with your dad, no one gets in trouble, but when I do it I'm a ******?" I almost snapped. The smell of cheap beer formed under my nose and the entire contents of my stomach almost fell to the side of my bed, however, I had not eaten enough to push all of my mental instability out of my mouth. I could feel my father's hands around my wrist, pulling, pinning, calloused hands scratching my nine year old skin. I could hear my young cries for help, and the tears staining my cheeks. I could feel the air on my ear as he whispered. "Tell anyone and it'll be worse next time." I remembered cleaning my own blood from the carpet that afternoon.
And I almost replied with a defensive remark, but I stopped. There was no need for this private matter to be put on display on a social media forum, because then who's the girl that "fooled around" with her father?
But then the question, it irks me to my very core, the reason my hands are so swiftly typing this poem between waves of hurricanes in my eyes. It's as if my dignity has been stripped from me again, no more layer of scar tissue to protect even the deepest layers of my darkest secrets. Nothing was safe anymore.
And when I showed it to my boyfriend, the look in his eyes terrified me. It was as if someone had just dropped a match on a mile long pile of bone dry trees doused in gasoline. But someone had. Someone had dropped a match on me, just as fragile and capable of burning up completely.
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
Sometimes I don't know if it's because I'm from the mid-west where everyone gets married and has babies before 21,
or if it's because I've always been a hopeless romantic;
but I want true out of this world love.
I want someone to want to marry me.
I'm neutral on kids right now though.
I need someone that falls in love with me every day, over and over.
Marriage to me, means finally finding that person that completes you.
Truly.
Like, finding the missing piece that was taken when you were born, and placed into this other person.
You're soul mate.
I take it very seriously. And that's why I don't think I'll ever even be asked.
Lift up your shirt
And show me where it hurts
Is it near the middle of your chest
Beneath your skin and flesh
Is it that beating thing inside
That thing that is keeping you alive
Although it feels dead inside
Lift up your skirt
Tell me something new
Reveal a new universe
Do you belive in pleasure
Bloomed from sin
Or is there only pain tangled in the roots
Of the flower that you hide
What do you carry thats beautiful inside
The colors in your eyes
Says your silence tells no lies
But whats the deeper truth
Of the soul lost in the reflection
Of the darkness in thier black
If I share my scars and wounds
The ghosts haunting my living pulse
The dead love buried deep
In the lost sea of beating ocean red
The thing that was once my heart
Nailed to the misery
Of something that was once a dream
What could you do or say
If I show you where it hurts
We both know its just a lie
To say
I'll take your pain away
But I'll still belive you anyway
Its what we are suppose to do
As we grind bones and time to dust
Is it any different
If we just pretend to love
Will it hurt any less
When its just empty motion
And hollow words
The echo of a long ago truth
Spoken years ago
Back when the thing
Keeping us from death
Still made us feel alive
I may have held the gun
But I didn't pull the trigger

I may have tied the rope
But I didn't pull it tighter

I may have grasped the knife
But I didn't slice my flesh

I may have wanted to die
But it was you who did the killing
Does this make sense to anyone else?
Darkness pervades; an empty whole.
Tears fill this broken bowl.
The nectar too salty to quench the thirst
A brutal reminder of what came first

A Blackness, a Void. God illuminated into being.
Beauty, Belief, Faith - a false way of Seeing.
The futile attempts to make the hole whole,
but it's Loneliness that resides in our Soul.

In every being sprung into existence
the Romantic effort of Man's resistance
is Love, hailed as the Cure.
But ask yourself, "Are you sure?".

At a life with Loneliness by our side
Love's importance becomes amplified.
But Love is just a wishful lie
it is Loneliness that embraces us as we die.
Yes, Doctor
First it hurt horribly
Unbearably

Then,
It swelled up
So I wrapped it tight
Till the swelling went down

Next,
The swelling was gone,
But it started to bruise
It turned bright colors; purple and red
So I iced it numb
Till I felt no more

Now,
The bruises aren't so bright
But the numbness went away
And back came the excruciating pain
So I took some medicine
To make things seem better

But Doctor,
Here's the thing:
I don't think it will get better

So Doctor,
Can you fix my soul?
No. He can't fix it. I'm officially broken
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