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 Jun 2015 Sydney Ann
Cat Fiske
this whole year I have talked to girls in my school,
girls
who wouldn't do things together,
even come together or even talk,

but now were talking,
we've talked,

because the school has lied to us about all these little boy's ****,
and how the boys are allowed to bruise our body's,
steel our souls like it's a game,

why was he allowed?
to get away with it,

because the school and policemen played this game like ****** fools,
and they too encouraged the assault and abuse,
to girls in the hall, or walking to school up the street,

even to girls in cafeterias,
afterschool,

were perfumes of pretty girls were stolen by high school boys,
as they laid on cafeteria floors,
the only scent left was the old lunchroom food stench,

and the high school boy's,
***** *** sweat,

but you belived closeing the doors to the lunchroom,
afterhours,
will stop future harm,

but closeing a door,
wont give a **** victim closer,

espesally when the game continues,
and the odds are stacked up against the women,
where to walk from class to class,

becomes a danger,
and a threat,

because girls who I go to school with have stopped wearing,
that **** red dress,
or tub tops, cutshirts, short shorts,

anything that,
could get you hurt,

because the girls who I go to school with have to wear,
there daddys sweatshirt and sweatpants,
covering
their whole body's while trying to say,

"Im not ****,"
"Don't pick me,"


they are screaming their hopes,
of "Don't Pick Me's" because of the game,
the game of slapping *****,

in the man packs of fives,
to the one girl trying to get to her next class by herself,

the school grounds are no longer a place that's safe,
where you have to know every corner that has a missing camera,
or one turned off,

or if the man pack pull you into the bathroom,
and take off your top,

you're going to be the one,
who gets the book thrown at them,
because the five boys,

pulled the one of you,
into the boys bathroom,

and it doesn't matter why,
or how you got there,
cause school doesn't care,

tells you that you are wrong,
and it's all your fault,

and the five to pull you in,
walk around the school all day,
getting talked up,

like they rolled snake eyes on a pair of six's,
as your stuck like a prisoner in the office trying almost begging,

for some sort of justice,
and every time you talk,
there replys make you feel like a ****,

but you just want to call your mom,
and they wont let you,

so you have to sit and wait, and,
you don't remember if they took your picture & got it with your face,
but you can remember each and everyone of there faces,

like there the only faces a blind person will ever see,
as if there horrible image can't get away from you,

you try,
because you should only see beauty,
though blind eyes,

and your eyes have been scorned,
because five boys tore one girls shirt,

and these boys play the game,
the game of ****, and let me take her picture without her consent,
but that's not even all their rules,

because if they don't do that to you,
they publicly shame you,

they come up to you,
slap your *** so hard,
you instantly see a bruise,

and you have to tell your mother when you get home,
and she has to take pictures of it,

take you to the police station,
where they tell you,
the school should of just handled it,

and in a town so ******* worried about pills,
and drugs,

maybe they should worry about the game they taught their sons,
because the girls may pop pills and drink underanged,
but does that give a man an excuse,

to commit a ****?
and I know it's not just the girls who suffer the most,

I feel though it all,
the guys who have gotten the worse treatment,
kept what happened hidden,

because girls are smart,
and we know all the men got away with it,

so if one or two girls wanna **** a dude,
you think our police or school will do **** for the dudes too?
if anything they'd get publicly shamed,

and what high school boy wants that,
when they were taught to play a game,

and someone,
played the same ****,
**on them.
a bunch of girls keep getting harassed like this. all of this is true sadly this is based on true stuff, none happened to me like this, but I had my phone stolen and the school handled it the same way, and I've been *****, so I'm a support person for people at school, and I try to help them get though it, and make sure they get a police report filed even though they tell them and there parents they don't need too. and try to give them my best support emotionally. Its tough, but we can all get though things, but other things need to change, and yeah I have talked to guys who have been *****, but they didn't do anything.
 Jun 2015 Sydney Ann
JR Falk
An Open Letter To The First Boy I Loved

Alternatively known as “An Open Letter To The Boy That Calls Me Crazy.”

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
A picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

The first thing I should have done was run.
Not only were you immediately trying to make me feel bad
Before I had even uttered a word,
But you were already one-upping me,
Making me feel like you had been through so much more.

I admit my mistake of having shown my weaknesses online
At such a young age,
Hardly 14,
But having grown to a world of romanticized trauma,
I felt it was only normal to have issues of my own,
Whether they were exaggerated or not.

The saddest part of these issues having been forced upon myself
Is the fact that at one point I did not need them,
But now I feel like I would be nothing without them.
I do not blame you for their worsened behavior,
But before I met you,

I had never felt like a ****.
I had never actually made myself bleed to the point of soiling a shirt.
I had never actually attempted to take my life.

Though knowing I had these scars,
It seemed you knew how easily I’d fall into you,
Fall for you,
Looking for comfort in knowing I was not alone.

You persuaded me into kissing you.
You persuaded me into losing my virginity in the back of your mom’s car
While she was in your house on a cold September night.
It was rushed.
It was rough.
There was blood.
And you did not care.
“It’ll be quick, don’t worry.”

In the six months we were together,
I willingly had *** with you twice.
Every other time ****** acts occurred,
(which was over forty times)
You guilted me.
You told me that you deserved it.
You asked if I really loved you.
You told me I needed to show you that I loved you,
You told me that it was what love really was.

I never told you how many times I cried after you left.
I never told you how many guys I kissed after you,
And how every single one made me cry
Without saying a word.
It was the simple intimate touch--
Lips, even if gentle, pressing together--
That sent fear rolling through my body.

It was three months after you broke up with me.
Three months after you admitted that you cheated on me,
It was the day you asked me to go on a walk with you.
The day we could become friends again,
Start over,
Ignore that I still loved you,
Try again.
You insisted you still loved me
(Though now I doubt you ever did).
You insisted that you
Never wanted to hurt me,
And bent me over a tree in the woods
Behind the high school,
And said it would
“Just be in and out! Once!”
And I begged you to stop.
You slapped me,
You called me a ****,
And when you finally finished,
You started to panic.
You were begging me to say that
You
Didn’t
****
Me.
Through my own tears,
My own confusion,
My own pain,
I assured you,
“No, you're okay. It'll all be okay.”

It has been over two years since that day.
Since then, I have opened myself up to one person.

That man has since left me.
One of the contributing factors
Being that he was worried I was not over you.
He kept receiving messages from you,
Messages you sent claiming I would never stop loving you,
When this is the closest thing to hatred that I have ever felt,
Messages you sent claiming I would always think of you,
And what’s terrifying is I can’t help thinking of you--

It's only because I can’t get the nightmare
Of your touch
Out of my aching skull
And I don’t want you to feel victorious,
And it terrifies me that you do,
Because not only did you push me,
Not only did you threaten me,
Intimidate me,
**** me,
But you insisted I’d spend the rest of my life with you,
You disoriented my visions of love
Like a bad LSD trip,
And I’m so ******* scared it will never ******* end,
Because every time I see myself trying to hug,
Kiss,
Love,
Trust someone,
I see what you did to me and I know that it’s
Baggage to them,
But a ball and chain on me,
And I’m petrified.
These memories are bars keeping me from moving onto happier things,
Keeping me holed up, waiting for you to finally let me go,

Stop telling people that I’m crazy,
Stop whispering my name when you pass me in the hall,
Stop following my social media,
Stop following the people that I try to let in,
Stop ******* with my life,
Stop ******* with my head,
Stop ******* with me,
Leave me the **** alone,

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
With a picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

I never thought I’d have more scars than that.
Over 146 scars,
The police department proved it when they showed up at your house
The night you tried to **** yourself,
And told me it was my fault.

The scars I have aren’t physical.
Not all of them, at least.
But the problem with scars is they don’t just go away.
They go away with time,
And it’s hard to let them heal when you’re still leaving them there today.

I’ve tried telling the police what you’ve done.
I’ve tried telling counselors,
They haven’t done anything;
There was never enough proof,
It happened too long ago.
I can’t do anything to prove it.
Instead I’m left to see you daily.
Instead I’m left to hear you whisper about me.
Have people ask me questions about the things they’re hearing
Things you say.

This is an open letter to the first boy I loved.

I say boy, because
The only thing I’m certain of anymore,
Is you will never
Be a
Man.
I'm bawling right now.
I've needed to get this all out for two years.
I'm almost 18 now. Just clarifying.
5/30-31/2015
 Jun 2015 Sydney Ann
Delaney
I don't wish harm on people
                                                           BUT

to the guy who stole my innocence,
I hope you know that I wake up at night
screaming from the nightmares
of what you did to me.
You, you ******* monster,
who thought it was okay to ignore me
when I told you "no."
Who thought it was okay to pin me down
on my own **** bed.
I hope you get justice,
however it may come.
The courts aren't listening to me,
but you'll get what's coming.
You have to.
It isn't fair if you don't.

I don't wish harm on people
                                                          BUT
Maybe you're the one exception.





                                          (d.d.b)
 Jun 2015 Sydney Ann
Delaney
People say,
I should be over it.
"It was, like, a year ago. Stop being so afraid."
Don't you people see?
A year ago is all too close to me.
(and, for the record-- it's 11 months and 6 days)
How do you just 'get over' the loss of your peace of mind?
I sure as hell haven't figured it out.
I still see him
in my nightmares,
in the flashbacks.
Some people think I actually am over it.
But I know that I am not.
I flinch when others touch me without warning,
I cannot open the front door,
I'm unable to walk down the street.
I'm so hyper aware of what happened to me.
I swear, he is buried in my sheets.

So don't tell me to get over it.
Unless you can somehow tell me how.
  

                         (d.d.b)
The anniversary is coming up and I'm not ready.
as I wake morning

       coffee cups dancing in head

caffeine is my friend
As I sip my morning cup in thought.
You call me Lesbian
I say, yes I am
You call me Gay
I say, yes I am
You call me Bi-******
I say, yes I am
You call me Transgender
I say, yes I am
It doesn't matter what you call me
It doesn't matter what you think
you will not change who I am

I am who I am
I believe in equality.
One Earth
One Species
we are all Human
children of Earth
I still remember how your hands felt around my wrists. I felt every single settle squeeze as you kissed my neck. I hated it. I hated every single disgusting second of it. You didn't do anything wrong, you were just the unfortunate boy that couldn't have my heart or purity.
I still remember the music. I only knew you for two weeks. You were much older. You looked at me like I was the meat beneath your teeth and absolutely everything about that made me cringe. I know it was all malice. Nothing but malice. As soon as you took off your shirt I lost my breath. As soon as you bit my collarbones I cried out. No. I don't want it. No I didn't want it. You whispered sweet I love you's in my ear. I don't know how you could love me without knowing my last name or the way my eyes looked sober. I have never gotten dressed so fast. I have never ran so fast. I have never screamed so loud.
I heard him in you two. I boiled off my skin like that would make it go away. Like that disgust would go away.
I saw her in your eyes. I heard "let's play a game" in my head.
Echoes. So many ******* echoes. Now all that remains are the voices in my head.
 May 2015 Sydney Ann
Amber Bowen
I want you to feel loved
All the time
Because I know
What it’s like
To feel unloved
I would never wish
That upon anyone
Especially you
I know all too well what it feels like,
I want to show you as much as I can
This form of love.
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