you tell me you yell
because you love me
you tell me you hit me
because you care,
you want the best for me

yet, you become so alarmed
when i tell you he hits me because he loves me
with each blow he loves me more
why are you so alarmed that he cares for
and he loves me the way you did, dad.

there's something about him, the way he talks, walks, even smiles. the way he said her name, the way he did everything but more importantly the way he pretended to love her. she knew deep within he was faking it but it's been years since she's heard the words leaving his lips, it's been years since she felt anything like this, she knew this wasn't healthy for her. she's come so far only to be fooled once more but that's okay. this feeling is worth the hurt .

i cannot wait for the day
i look at you
or say your name
or even see your picture
and feel absolutely
n o t h i n g

every forty seconds
a family cries
friends mourn
people wonder why

every forty seconds
a life is lost
every forty seconds
someone has had enough

people want answers
" why didn't they ask for help? "
but they did,
the signs were there
but they were ignored
people don't care until it's too late

every forty seconds
lives are changed
destroyed forever
is there a note?
a reason why?

one death, EVERY FORTY SECONDS
statistical numbers are climbing
when will people realize this is a growing problem?

stop.
give a kind word
or two.
lend a hand
you may save life and lower the statistics.

you told me i was everything
yet you treated me like i was nothing
how convenient for you to compliment me only when you needed me
to get into my pants and satisfy your own hunger
but how stupid of me to let you in repeatedly

there’s a heaviness in my chest
one i can’t explain
there’s a weight  
                            -pulling me
closer and closer
                           to the bottom
closer and closer
                           to
the
                end.

**** culture is being told to change my outfit five times too many because i don't want to attract the wrong man or give men the wrong idea.

**** culture is men (and women) thinking they're entitled to my body because parts of me are showing.

**** culture is being asked what did i do for a man to **** me. it's being asked if i was too friendly or trusting.

**** culture is blaming the victim for being ***** instead of blaming the ******.

i always feel out of place, at 19 i still haven't found the place where i belong. i'm stuck in a small country with not much to do. i feel like i'm drowning; the world is happening around me yet i feel frozen. what's my purpose for living? what is my talent? i want to change the world. i want to be remembered for my good.

how do i find my purpose when i'm stuck in a country with no way out? how do i find my talent when my anxiety makes it difficult to try everything? how do i do anything when my depression makes me not want to leave my bed? what's my purpose? when will i become unfrozen? when will i find my place?    


                                       maybe tomorrow?
                                             next week?              
                                      next month?
                                               in a year or few
                                       or maybe never.

i'm trying
i'm trying
but i can't stop crying

why am i like this?
my feelings - i have to hide
my heart is racing

i can't breathe
the walls are caving in
my heart is racing
the tears are flowing

my mind is a mess
my life is a mess
i'm struggling
i'm fighting

i'm surviving
this is my truth
the pain is unbearable
yet, i stand tall
yet, i'm smiling.

palms to my face. shame in my eyes. i can feel my heart trying to break itself free. i wonder if you hear it too. a caged animal begging to be rescued and freed. i slowly open my legs for you to enter. so slow i begin to feel the regret. it hit me like a runaway train. you sensed it too. you had to have sensed it. you ripped open my legs. and instead of entering right away. you sat there and told me how beautiful i am. as if i needed them to be sure this was right. only they assured me this wasn't what i wanted. but before the words could leave my lips. you forced your fingers deep within and smiled with satisfaction. as if to say, i'm moist enough to want you, so there's obviously no regret. it's too late to leave. you already started and before i knew it, you were finished. and without a second thought, i dashed to the bathroom to get dressed. then i dashed home like i was being chased and my survival depended on it.

i think she mistook the hurt in my eyes
for jealousy,

i think she confused my heartbreak with hatred.
i can't hate her. i never will

i think she thinks i'm bitter he chose her
but that's not it. that will never be it.
it's about losing the one i fell inlove with
it's about all the memories that faded from his memory
it's about me and my heart.

i'm hurt. i'm broken. i don't know how to heal.
i don't know how to cope. i know i can do all these things
but i just don't know how.

i'm trying to pick the pieces up. my heart is on the floor -
shattered and unrepairable for the time being.
i can't fathom how i'll make it through this one but,
i know i will.

i know the fighter inside. i know what she's capable of doing.
i know what she can handle.
i'm just not sure if she can handle it yet.

you were the first person to take my breath away
and three years later,
i haven't gotten it back

" and i hope in the end it's worth every single sleepless night, every teardrop, every silent scream in the dead night air, i hope it's worth it all because people like you and me, we don't get happy endings, we don't get the rainbows at the end of the storm "

you bragged and boasted
about us and the *** we had
every time i walked by
your friends,
your silly friends would point
and stare
with my eyes glued to the gravel
under my feet, i kept moving
silly boys, disgusting boys
because little did they know
your *** story
was my **** story.

it’s the worst kind of pain, they say
i cling to my 3rd bottle of *****
look at me, at just 18
my muffled cries
my screams into my pillow
sleepless nights, drunken nights
the darkness of my room is now my solitude
no-one told me it’d hurt this bad
it’s been two years since my first drunken night
two years later I’m on my millionth drunken night
with my ***** and tears

i think i enjoy pain a little too much. i seem to enjoy having my heartbroken. it's almost as if without the pain and hurt of heartbreak i cannot function. the words only come when i'm clutching onto hope and love and the memory of us. i guess that's why i love so deeply and freely because without love there is no pain, and without pain there are no words and without either, there is no me.

it's funny how the simplest heart break can have you questioning your entire self-worth. like why not me. why am i not good enough. why doesn't he love me. what's wrong with me. it's hell. one boy has me questioning everything about myself. one boy has me wondering why no one will ever love me. one boy has me questioning if love is even in the world for me. how did one simple heart break and disappointment have me self-destructing this badly. how did i allow a boy to cause me to move from feeling like something to feeling like absolutely nothing