The Weight of the world rests on the shoulders that are willing to carry it.
It’s crazy that for so long
I carried your boulders on my neck
without any thought of the curvature of my spine.

Persistent years of ache and weary
Yet I still held the stones that would leave damage for a lifetime.
I allowed you to pile on as much as you please
And all I ever said was thank you
For allowing me to be part of what saves you.

Years past, and I did not save you.
Years go by, and suddenly
I am the one that needs saved
I am the one with boulders
I am the one with a broken back and nobody willing to help.

A spine can only handle
so much pressure over so much time.
My spine has had enough.
And finally it caves after years of neglecting myself for everyone else.

You watch through the Platforms
prowling through my history.
Knowing that these boulders are yours.
boulders that you never claimed once you left.

I stopped blaming you
For my inability to let go of the stones that you gave me.
I have learned to take responsibility
For my part in my own destruction.

Now, I have repaired my spine
Tremendous hills climbed in -0 cold.
Heavy Tsunami’s with no boat.
My hands have cuts from the rocks I crawled over to get here.

The only thing that really matters now,
Is that I made it. Spine intact.
With a lesson I will never have to learn again.

When describing myself to others
I often refer to myself as a tree.
I am not majestic like the willow.
Or unique like the palm.

I am the biggest oak you’ve ever seen.
I am strong, confident, resistant.
I am the tree that stood high despite the hurricanes, tornados, and floods.

The problem is that I am, in fact, a tree.
My skin is not soft. It’s is harsh
like the wooden armor surrounding me.
It takes an axe to cut through these layers.

Despite my efforts, I cannot help
But to hold onto the weapons that have attempted to bring me down.
My carcass refuses to release after the assaults.

Instead of letting go and healing my wounds,
I keep the daggers until a new layer confines the evidence of your presence.
To remind me of the lesson I should not have had to learn.

I call them lessons but they are more like disappointments.
Locked into my body, to keep me aware of the danger of mankind.

I am aware that these keep-sakes are not harmless.
But losing the integrity of this body is worth it, if it creates the façade that I am stronger than you.

My leaves may fall
Limbs collapse.
But still, after I am made hallow from the disease underneath the beauty of my strength.
I will still be standing. All weapons intact.

Sometimes, pretending that I am a tree,
Is a better reality,
Than realizing that as a human,
I shouldn’t be.

Dear mother.
Though my love for you is unconditional,
As the love of family should be
I have learned to accept that it is not returned.

When I say it should be,
I mean that I hold the same value as the picture frames that linger on your workstation.

When I say it is not returned,
I mean that when I’m finally introduced to new people, they are not shocked that you have another daughter.

Unconditional does not mean I linger in the shadows of your embarrassment, right next to the divorce you almost had.
I have learned to accept the darkness, as your only source of love.

Dear mother, why has it not occurred to you that a heartbreak doesn’t have to be a lover.
Your tongue of blades has cut my soul for the last time.

You are often the topic of my therapy session, always ending in “why do you give her so much control?”.
My only answer is that it must be my unwillingness to accept that maybe God doesn’t think I need a family.

What is a life where not once, but twice you have been cast out of the cult that is supposed to be life long.
Maybe the cult is life long, but your love for me never will be.

Dear mother how can you not see that you are my biggest threat.
My guts spill out of my stomach onto my feet every time you message me.
My chest conclaves into itself for protection.

How does my ability to love the same *** equate the audacity of ******.
Since when does love become a bigger threat than the *** trafficking that takes place right on our doorsteps.

Dear mother, how can you not understand that heartbreak doesn’t have to be a lover, but sometimes reveals Itself to be a mother.

It’s always dark when I start to miss your touch.
The 12 o clock crunch of your chips in our bed.
The way you always smelled so strong.
Though, we both knew that being such was not your strong suit.

It’s always that song that makes me miss you.
The one we would blast our souls out to, on winding road.
The melody that melted our minds into one.
As if we weren’t already.

You always called me an 80’s movie.
Never was quite sure
if it was a compliment or not.
But it didn’t matter because You overlapped it with sweet fog.

You liked that I was more broken than you.
And so did I.

You once played a song.
When I didn’t cry you said “you must’ve never been heartbroken before”.
Now I break down any time I hear it.

You showed me all of the fire flies in my grass.
Now I see them and my eyes go blurry.
The blurry streams down my face even more when they are gone.

You must be visiting someone else tonight.

I still text your number.
I know I shouldn’t
but somehow I feel like you get the messages.
I hear your response in my head as I hit send.

I can still feel like pressure of your fingertips against mine, as if they never left.
It makes me wonder how I could fall in love with someone I could never get close to.

But you liked that I was more in love than you.
And so did I.

“She stands in front of the mirror
Looking into her own eyes
As tears fill to the rim.
She stands there hands clenched
While the guilty sit down, lips
Sitting on the brim of their solo cup.

He does not have to use the buddy system
At least, not as often, in the dark.
Maybe his shorts are not short enough
Or maybe it’s biological
But still her throat starts closing up.

As if he shoved his fist in it
Yanked it
Twisted it
And pulled out the only piece left of her heart.

That’s not even the sad part.

Now she is to blame.
That shirt she wore was a little low cut.
Those jeans she wore to show off her ****
*** she deserved it for being a ****.

Disgusting.

No I’m not talking about her.
I’m talking about you and your shrill mind.
You are not special, not one of a kind.
You’re exactly what society has refined,
As a new normal.

Society yells to “kick those who are already down
Scream the lies to make their words not count.
Push your rumors until she falls down.
And destroy her image so that she can’t climb back out.

Amen.”

But we as women should not stay silent.
The years are gone of us being quiet.
We should raise our fists up as one. United.
And demand the justice they have been hiding.

For ever scratch, mark, and battle bruise.
For every gun they have ever pointed at you.
For every hand that has covered out mouth
Will be bitten
And every dollar thrown at us, to bribe us into to quitting.

I only have one sentence to say to all
One to one, yes we will fall
But together at last
That’s how we will win it.
Don’t hold your breath, it’s only the beginning.

As I grow I continue to learn.
I’ve learned family is just blood.
I’ve learned that death is empty.
I’ve learned to roll my pants up In rain.

I now know that fighting is singular.
There is no plural when you are the only one standing at the front line.
As a woman they tell you never to walk alone, yet no one volunteers to stand by your side?

I am often asked why I hate men.
The only honest answer is that I don’t.
I hate the excuses society has made for them.
I hate that they bare no cross for their actions.
They bare no remorse for their victims.

Society teaches women to yell but don’t scream any words to disrupt the peaceful slumber of the wicked. Oh how they rest so easy.
Society teaches women to stand but only in the way back, as not to disturb the men that are digging deep into their ribs to power over our voices.

I do not stand at the front line screaming that all men are bad. No.
I stand alone screaming not to trust a single one considering the ones that wish to gain our trust the most, are the ones that easily turn.

When a man hits a woman, he is not showing her he is strong. He is trying to make her believe that it is easy it is for him to break her.
When a man rapes a woman, he is not showing her how good he is in bed. He is trying to make her believe that she should’ve tried to prevent it.

The biggest issue is the justification that society has built on the bones of ***** and beaten.
In a society where you receive 40 years prison time for bribery, and 2 years for ****.
A society that won’t ruin the life of a young man but allows men to ruin the sanity of our young women.

You ruin a mans life for reporting. You’re lying if you don’t report. You’re a coward for staying while he hit you, but you’re just as guilty for hitting him back. You attempt to take your life after the trauma of a ****; if you fail, you’re just asking for attention. If you succeed, you’re selfish.

Seems that we are not a society of violence. Just a Society of forgiveness at the expense of our daughters.

So no, don’t ever trust a man.

Though I am above water
I Feel as if I am drowning
Though I am on land
I am spitting water out of me

But in my mind
The water is red
Bleeding heart or
Is my goodness leaving without me

Everyday a part of me dies
I’ve learned to like the solitude
People get tired of hearing my cries
There isn’t really much I can do

My heart is so heavy
And my shoulders just drop
Am I really asking for too much?
By begging it to ******* stop?

I’m lonely
I’m sad
I’m angry
It’s getting pretty bad.

I’m losing who I am
Only one part is left to save
But you’re too late
At my lonely 12 o’clock I’ll cave.

Goodbye beautiful me.
Hello protected soul
Today everyone thinks I’m fine
But tomorrow they will finally see me fold

The pills are my escape from you
I hear the bottle rattle in my head
My mother was an addict too
But I just take them to go to bed

At least, that’s what I tell people.

One time I took too many
It wasn’t an accident I swear
That’s actually how this habit started
Because my pain was just too much to bare.

This was never part of my plan but
These capsules make me numb
And I forget who I am
Or even Where I’m from

I finally laugh again
When my brain isn’t the same
These beautiful pebbles
Can definitely change the game

I don’t remember what happened to me
When I’m under their spell
I forget about the burning in my throat
From constantly yelling for help

I should be fine by now
It was a year ago after all
Maybe I’m trying too hard
Or maybe the pain doesn’t heal because you ******* tell it so.

Everyone is your friend at your funeral
But it’s vacant when you’re alive
I’m a downer at a party
They sense I have a different vibe

Maybe it’s becaue the last event
That I attended
Ended up being a traumatic
Fearful experience with you.

But you’re in prison now
And it shouldn’t be a problem for me
You got a small ******* sentence
That should be enough to set me free.

Right?

Hello poetry
It’s been long since we’ve last conversed
I forgot about you
Like a child forgets their favorite toy at the park.

I was distracted by a light.
Cosmic essence of beauty
Golden curls, eyes greener than luck.
And a mouth that said all the right things.

Betrayal comes in many forms these days
While some show their face
Others hide in the insecurities of their prey
They lay high on the chain.

While I lay low.
Soaking up the promises and compliments
Even though I know they are well versed.
I can tell by the way they flow from your lips

I listen. Promising not to believe it
But we both know that’s empty
Just like me when you found me
And pulled me up to the tallest tower.

Little did I know that the hands that pulled me
The hands that held me,
The hands that healed me,
Would be the hands that pushed me to demise.

Silly little girl, you knew what you were.
To him you were an empty water bottle,
That would fill again until he found a new one.
To him, you were something to be used.

But the worst thing about it all,
Is that you let him.

He complained about the bills
because she left him with the furniture
But his words they ****
He didn't care that he was hurting her

It was always all about him and
He was angry that she had left
But she had to save herself
her whole life's a freaking mess

She cried all the time
Even when she was working
Coworkers talked crap about her
They didn't realize she was hurting

No one ever reached out
Even though they all could see
She's not the bright young woman
she always used to be

With the exception of one
The only one she could tell
The last person she expected
Her coworker Annabelle

Annabell could see the same
At least she cared enough to ask
She actually reached out and
Slowly took off her mask

Who would've thought help would
come from such a stranger
She listened to understand and
Tried to warn her of all the danger

This kind of relationship
Will only ever get worse
But she was so in love and
she only wanted to make it work

They said she was dumb for staying so long
But how could she ever leave
In the worlds eyes he did no wrong
And she didn't have the heart to speak

About the pain he caused
And the time he held his gun.
I mean don't get me wrong
"you can't blame him he was drunk"

Right??

But what about the times he screamed?
Just because he had a bad day?
It had nothing to do with her
But really, what was she supposed to say?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
She would sit there and she would take it
I mean if he really loved her
then how could he just fake it?

It Had to be her fault.
I mean, why else would he do it?
No matter what he did
She always knew they could get through it

But She was so wrong

he always said he was sorry
he said that he would change and
she didn't have to worry
But she had to be to blame.

But now she so broken and so damage
she can't even hear his name
without flashbacks and anxiety
don't even get her started on her panic attacks and sobriety!

She finally grew the courage to leave
it was the hardest thing she done
it wasn't easy please believe
she wasn't leaving to have fun

She didn't leave him because she didn't love him
she left him because he didn't love her
that kind of life,
was it really what she deserved?

That's what the world seem to believe
there was nothing she could say
to make them understand
without giving him away

So she stayed silent. So silent.
And she harbored all that pain
until it was just too much
And she didn't want to live another day.

But she deserved a better ending.
He destroyed her without consequence
so with one last attempt to save her life
she finally told her parents

and their hearts literally broke
with every tear running down her face
and with every word she spoke
and they finally understood

why she had become so distant
she didn't want them to see
The change in her soul
and how could they have missed it

so she stopped coming over
she ignored all attempts
they did nothing wrong
but she couldn't let them in

to this disaster she once called home?
Devastation covered their faces
so many emotions pouring out
so they met her with their embrace and

She sat there and she just thought
how can I let this be?
all the messed up things that he said
and did to me?

But what could she even do?
He already spread his lies
and like all drama in this town
it's spread like raging wildfire

and it wasn't long before her "friends"
were voicing their opinion's
About a life they knew nothing of
And a nightmare they didn't live in

she had nowhere to go
and no one she could ever trust
there was no Safehaven and
there was no justice

For the once Beautiful soul
that he destroyed
but can you really blame him?
With the truth so sad, wouldnt you devise a ploy?

Yeah?

Or would you convince her
That it's "nobody's business?"
Because that's what he did
when she wanted therapy to fix it

This tragedy is never ending
and my hand is getting tired
maybe next time you hear a rumor
you won't be so quick to buy it

she still holds onto all her secrets
never said a single word
doesn't that make you sad?
The helpless soul that was never heard?

Went to a party lastnight
It was Ganna be fun
I was with my awesome boyfriend
I really believed he was "the one"

I drank a lot more than I should've
And He had quiet a few too
Couldnt speak the word I should've
I didn't realize what he would do

I woke up to him on top of me.
He penetrated me more than once
When I asked him what was happening
All he could say was what now you wake up?

He kept saying I didnt remember
But actually I remember it all
It was a horrible pain
I ran out the room to call.

But he had hidden my phone.
I locked myself in the bathroom
Somehow he unlocked the door
I tried to leave but there wa no room

There was no exit for me at all

People tell me is wasn't ****.
Because we were dating
But if your too drunk to say no
That's a **** I'm stating.

How can I tell people?
No one will believe me
They didn't believe me the last time
Why waste my time breathing

Should I stay silent
Pretend that I'm ok?
Should I tell the cops?
Should I run away?

The pain I feel
And the despair
I was betrayed
But will anyone care enough
to listen and try to save

...me?

I tried to die one night
Two days after my ****
The "friends" I tried to lean on
wouldn't help me escape

I was left to hurt alone
I couldn't even sleep
Started seeing him in my dreams
I guess it was too much for me

I couldn't leave my house
I felt like everyone could see
All the pain I was hiding
While he still felt at peace

And I read the messages
That broke my heart so deep
I grabbed the pills, left the phone
Tried to find the perfect place

I wrote a note so sad
When I read it I still weep
Took all the xanax I had
I wanted to fall asleep

I don't remember much else
Amnesia at its peek
Woke up in an institution
Filled with help they wanted me to seek

They diagnosed me crazy
Anxiety, depression, PTSD
Even adjustment disorder
But What does that even mean?

Who I was is now dead
Inside Is a constant scream
I'll never trust anyone
And that's who I used to be

My heart was pure and good
Now it's pure anger and mean
Second guessing everyone's intentions
Because he was evil, I didn't see

In a world where "fool me once"
Apparently means Shame on me.
dont worry my people
Maybe next time, I'll succeed.

I have an insatiable envy for the fortunate.
I blame you for things that you haven’t done.
Welcome to your first lesson in how to be trish.

Ever financial burden was always our fault.
Rent wasn’t paid. Food was scarce. Our clothes were too small. You learn not to talk about such trivial things.

Asking questions about a fight was never appropriate. That’s when you find out that the fight was your fault. Life would be so much easier without you. So would their relationship.

After we were taken by the state, our mother made sure we knew that was our fault. We never did the dishes. We never did our laundry. We were such bad children.

May 2017, I was ***** at a party. He fought hard to remind me that it was my fault for being drunk. For being there. For being a woman. For being alive. For breathing his air.

Now I punish myself in many ways because part of myself believes him. My brain has started to see things again. Though I am vegetarian, I bleed my fingers dry as if that’s not breaking the rules. My teeth hurt from clenching in my sleep because you will not leave me alone.

I walk around dragging my feet, heavy with armor. My calves are always protected. The last time they were exposed, my tendons were severed and I was rendered disabled. My therapist tells me that my armor is a flaw. It is unnecessary to be used all of the time. But don’t the public carry guns just in case? Wear masks just in case? Trust no one. For your own protection.

Growing up I was given this mindset. It was the only mindset I had known. So I kept it and now it is all I have. Such a curse to have bestowed.
So yes, this is your first lesson. Taking blame and bearing their cross.

My therapist said it is a benefit to realize that no one person is all good or all bad. But I cannot see you without seeing all bad. Feeling all bad. Hearing all bad. Seeing, feeling and hearing all bad for days that follow. Shadows and movements that creep, whispering my name, brushing against my body while I lay down at night. You are all bad. And if you are not, it’s only because you stole the good from me and left your bad as a gift.

And for this, I give you a solid *******, have a **** day.

Sometimes love is a lie.
It is the dinner table of an enchanted feast
Little did you know that the roast is poisoned.

When I say poison
I mean they casted a spell.
A spell that gives them power over what you do and say.

Under this spell
you do not stand up for yourself.
You let them mold you as if you are made of sand. Even though you know they will stomp on you. Form you flat. Nonexistent.

Is that the price of unconditional love?
Thinking outside of the box (A.K.A breaking the spell) gets you put into a box, duct taped, Saran wrapped, zip tied, and shoved under the bed when love has company.

Is that the result of being an embarrassment?
When I say embarrassment, I instantly think of my divorce. How I was ripped apart from the inside out only leaving my organs bruised and exposed. Well love came around the corner with a scalpel.

Is that the expense of being a disappointment?
When I say disappointment, I see the screenshots I was sending to my friends as love told me that I hate myself because I’m gay. Love never took into consideration that it was my first happy and healthy relationship.

I began to grow out of my shoes again.
Learned to ask the right questions.
Like, how can love harbor so much hate for my ability to open my heart to the unorthodox?

My ability to run from the lies of love, and find the purest form in myself.
I am the H2O that saved Bobby Bushay.
I am sprouting from the inside.
And everyone can see it, except love.

My PTSD
It reminds me everyday that I am changed
It injects the memories into my veins
Telling me to remember
Because I deserve the pain

This is who you are now.. it says..
You can’t chnage who you are
You can’t have fun anymore
Who can’t go to the bars

Not like you used to.
When a guy tries to come up to you
You will instantly think of the boy
Who destroyed you.

Because his name is branded on you like cattle
You got to therapy
You try to heal
But there is no winning this battle.

Sleep? You don’t get to sleep
You will see him in your dreams
And he will touch you with his fingers of blades
And I will force you to lay there while you scream.

Please stop.

He didn’t listen the first time
I won’t let you forget
It will play over and over
Like a song that won’t get out of your head

You want to go to the store? Fine.
But my PTSD makes me see his face
In every man. In every cashier
And In every single place.

You cannot forget me.. it says..
This is who you are.
There is no treatment or help from the scars that he placed on you.

Don’t be fooled.

I’ll let you think you’re getting better
But every time you hear a voice
You will think it’s him coming to claim
You. You were his victim of choice.

You were chosen.
Count yourself lucky.
What were you wearing?
That sound kinda slutty.

Well did you flirt with him?
You were askin for it.
Oh you were drinking?
*** you’re a *****.

You should be ashamed.
You deserved this after all.
Boys will be boys!
Now sit there. Stand tall.

And keep your ******* mouth shut.

My dreams are always bright in color.
So real yet so impossible.

Sometimes I forget that waking up screaming isn’t part of everyone’s routine.
There are time that I don’t remember that my story is sacred.

It drags behind me like the bumper of my car.
I am a terrible driver. But how can I get better with so many bugs on my wind shield.
The more I try to wipe it off, the more smudge and confusing it gets. I’ve learned to drive without my eyes.

Without my eyes, I run every red light, crash into every stop sign, I often wonder how I haven’t died yet. Why can’t I be that blessed.

My therapist says to use windex. I try but sometimes the windex stops working. Why isn’t the medicine making me better? I can no longer wake from the nightmares but how does that help me?

Constant running. Constant screaming. Constantly fighting for survival over and over again, sleep is my unwavering enemy.

Prison does not save a victim. When you took part of me, you left a piece of you and I hate myself because I can’t burn it out of my skin. No amount of bleach can cleanse you from my veins.

The water that pours from my blind eyes does not  erase you from my soul. oh how sad that is.

Once I was just me.
Now my dreams spell  WE.

If I could, I'd rewire
The tormented brain I've been intrusted with
But this soul is so tired.
And there nothing I can do to fix this.

Was I born so sick?
Was it something I had done
What makes this brain tick
Why is all emotion gone

It's empty. And silent
No joy. No pain
The complete numbness Of a shattered personality
And nobody ever has to pay

I was beaten and starved
Molested time and time again
Made to believe that I was alone
By a man who was never a man

I grew up in such a corrupted city
People make jokes about the ghetto
But it isn't so funny
when you've been shot up by the metro

Nobody knows my story.
Only the parts I choose to share
It's actually quiet tragic
And there's no one who can compare

Same **** everyday
Bitterness. Hatred. Anger. fear
I was Just a helpless soul
But the people chose not to hear

Because then they can ignore the problem
The selfishness of a parent
But damage and suffering
It was so appearent

They should be ashamed
For turning a blind eye
To something so devastating
It could make Jesus cry

I didn't succumb to my past
I built something new
I made a brighter path
And it had nothing to do with you.

I made it on my own.
I beat the statistics
Where is my pat on the back?
God I must've missed it

Or did it even come?
A society so broken
All they really care about is money
And rolexs.

Shame on them.
For allowing the torment
It should've come to an end
But now I'm numb.

So really what's the point
There is no up or down
Why shouldn't I roll a joint
And just let it all go?

Maybe do something harsher.
Heroine or *******
Nobody really cares
I'll never be the same

What's the point of this life
Constantly running
From a past I had no control over
Please tell me isn't it funny.

I have all the consequence
For everyone else's actions
I might as well sit back
And let disaster happen

My therapist told me
that I have a way with words.
She  said that I am able to tell the story
without telling the story.

As if my word wasn’t good enough to be heard
so I made a collage of pictures that were easier to handle. Cut and paste smaller chunks to complete a sentence. As if the sentence was ever really complete. My trauma was too large to swallow. How sad that must be.

Once my therapist told me that if I hadn’t had a life full of trauma I would not have survived my most previous. And maybe she is right.

But today I was informed that my ****** was being released early from prison. His six year sentence was too long for him. Well I will have to fight for my life for the rest of my life. how exhausting that can be.

Work release program. As much as I believe in prison rehabilitation I never thought that it would come to backfire. Never once did I think my core values would become my enemy. Now I’m a slave to my bleeding heart.

find a new place. find a new beginning. find a new life so that he can’t ruin what I have restored. They say I am crazy for being afraid, as if he hasn’t broken me to the pieces that I was. As if he hadn’t shattered what was remaining before.

Today I went to a store I bought every weapon that I could buy without purchasing a gun because my therapist told me she was afraid that I would try to attempt again. She cried. And for the first time in my life I realized that someone does care.

Even with the catastrophic news, I have learned something new. I am resilient. I am so much more than I was before. And if anyone should be afraid, it should be him. I am no longer lost. I am no longer fragile. And I will not run in place any more.

You think I am strong
because I have survived.
Survived abuse, ****, neglect, and lack of love.
You think I have thrived.

But you weren’t there
when I finally broke.
You weren’t there when I screamed
You weren’t there when I choked.

I did give up.
I ate that bottle.
But the people around me
Ripped my hand off of the throttle.

I haven’t moved on
But I think I choose to stand still
Not because I don’t want my future
But more darkness will come
And that one might **** me

I cry alone in my living room
Talking to someone that isn’t there
Not because I’m crazy
But because losing my sanity is near.

Death does not scare me.
Not anymore.
Living scares me most
Letting people in while my heart is still torn.

Stuck in my victim status.
That’s what my mother calls it.
Little does she know
A year isn’t long enough to heal ****.

I wish I had a normal life
But no my just keeps *******
So I guess I’ll continue my destructive ways
Smoking, drinking, speeding, *******.

Love doesn’t hurt right
Then what the **** is happening
Nobody ever broke me
While screaming that they loathe me.
When does the pain start capping?

Does anyone have the answer?
Cause I sure ******* don’t
I’m tired of typing my feelings
Cause you think I’ll finally “cope”

One day I’ll chnage my life
One day I’ll make it big.
I’ll scream my story from the roof
And you just have to ******* sit.
And listen.

“Use your story. Save someone like you”

I didn’t realize it was the brokens job to save the other broken people.
I didn’t realize people born with every advantage has no responsibility for those who weren’t.

I didn’t realize that pain and trauma automatically morphed me into a savior for all.
How does a broken heart heal while still in pain?
Doesn’t it occur to you that I might cause trauma of my own?

You cannot mend what’s broken, if you are not intact.

I am a ticking time bomb.
My PTSD left me with anger and rage that I cannot satisfy.
Please don’t spill your cup. Please take off your shoes at the door.
If I have to vacuum one more ******* time.

It’s not about the dirt. It’s not about the stain.
It’s about the chaos I cannot shake.
Constant instability, and disaster.
I am unstable.

So no.
I won’t share my story with someone to save them.
Because I cannot save the broken. I will shatter what is left.

This is my first refusal. My very first no.
And it is the kindest thing I have ever done

To every snap chatter whose name I do not recognize.
To every Facebook profile picture that I decline
I am sorry.
Not that I am a great loss
But for the judgment I place without knowing of you.

Most people are a product of their raising
However I am simply a product of my experience.
I was raised to love and respect those I don’t know.
But my experience has taught me to look for every red flag.
Even if it’s not there.

I turn a blind eye to the good things you tell me about yourself
Because I simply do not believe you.
I want to
believe you that is.
But my experience has convinced me that mankind is never good.

Man being the root word.
When I see a man I feel instant fear.
Men have only ever placed their hands on my innocence without persmission.
They are never sorry.

When I see a man I remember.
I remember so many nights of pain and desperation.
I remember the court room full of people that felt so lonely.
I remember being alone while I had to face you.

I remember my childhood.
My lack of a male figure
except the one that decided that 7 wasn’t too young.
I remember the shame. And my mother telling me that family doesn’t hurt.
That’s I was lying.

I remember my divorce.
My ex husband who always liked to drink.
Yell, throw things, wave his gun around.
The one who broke me in new ways.
Taught me that my lowest could go lower.

And from these things, I gained experience.
Experience in which, has made me who I am.
So too the men I haven’t met,
I am sorry.
Cause maybe, you are not what I have experienced.