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Bailey Martin May 22
Well I’m twenty now and I have this new insecurity. I am not a teenager anymore, and therefore I cannot lure old men between my legs and trick them into loving me and providing me with attention and care. Surprisingly, I’m finally okay with this and I’ll get to that later.
It’s always been easy to **** out the sick and twisted ones. The ones who see me as a young ****** and an even younger, chubbier, brighter face.
My eyes flicker with lust and my heart beats hard with joy at the guilty desire they feel as their hands grip all over me, keeping me safe and warm.
I was fourteen when I was first kissed by a man over three times my age. The memory of his rough salt and pepper moustache against my soft mouth kept me going in the late nights for years after. It was shortly after that I came up with my own algorithm on how to keep my daddy issues at bay.
I tempt them slowly, show my childish side and innocently touch them a little too much, tell them just a little too much. I’ll serenade them, quietly singing, “c’mon you know you like...little girls...” until they’re heated and ashamed as they follow me toward the back door and into a secret lust they were always too afraid to explore.
They have to stay with me. To them, I’m a precious jewel. A rare specimen that actually finds them **** and appealing. A young “innocent” who might not know that they’re mediocre at *** and emotionally unavailable due to their divorce. But I know. I always know.
They think they’re in control, that they’re sick for doing this to someone who has barely any experience.
In reality, I’m using them to curb my hungry codependency. They’re like a quick fix to me. I get to feel enticing and special, I get to punish the man who hurt me in my past by pleasuring and leaving the similar men of the present.
I scream out, “hurt me, Daddy, please!” The complete opposite of what I cried out as a child. Might even add some tears for maximum effect. I’m asking them, begging them, to please hit me...torture me.
My bruises are my trophies. Because this time I’m in control of the one abusing me. It makes me feel safe.
Then when they get too attached, they get vulnerable. I see this vulnerability and I get scared of not having someone to control me and take care of me. I get disgusted with what I’ve done, and I leave like an echo in the night (sorry Dave!).
Now here’s the weird turn. You, you are not like the rest of these men. I stumbled across you hoping to rob you of your money. But I fell hard, I fell deep. I became obsessed with you, Mr. Nine Years Senior. You don’t look at me with those sly eyes and tell me stories of the war and belittle me until you’re inflated and ready for bed. You don’t like me because I’m young. In fact, it scares you sometimes. But I think that’s so fun.
I am not in control of the situation. You could leave me at any time, I could leave you at any time. I don’t need to throw myself at you or tease you to get your attention. You give it to me regularly, willingly.
You say: “You are grown. You can make your own decisions”. But you also say: “Kids your age shouldn’t be so perverted”.
You say: “What a pathetic little *****”. But you also say: “I respect you. I understand. I do take you seriously. You are no different from me”. I no longer feel craved, I feel loved.
I’m not gonna lie, the gray in your beard and the slight lines around your eyes get me hot and I love to be cruel about your bad back and aching knees. The way you talk about impregnating me lights me up like nothing else but I say “give me five years!” And we laugh and laugh at your desperation to settle down and my desperation to stay your only baby. But you’re different.
You’re not the man I let touch me in high school, you’re not the divorcée I ****** once in Seattle, you’re not the anonymous perv I danced for online, or the endless boring boys and girls my age that I droned on with. You’re somewhere in the middle, and for that, Mr. Nine Years Senior, you’ve perfected my deepest taboo.
This is my final submission, take me or leave me.
I know this is bad but please don’t leave mean comments
Bailey Martin Nov 2018
This suffering has become too much for my mind and my body to handle.

I am angry with You because You broke me before I had a chance to grow. You were supposed to be the one person in the world who made me feel
loved, and
cared for. You
manipulated me. You
used me. You
abused me. You
ruined me before I ever met those who crippled me. The worst part is that I will always love You more than anyone else in this world...and when You die I will feel forever empty.

I hate YOU because YOU knew that I was
younger and more
vulnerable and used that to
maim me. I can never enjoy my life again because of YOU. Every day of my life is
violated and
defiled by YOU in the same way YOU
tortured me in those three months. The worst part is that it has been five years and YOU are still happily living and breathing somewhere out there. I want YOU to die.

I am terrified of you because you hold all of the power and you do not and will not care about my life. You don't care if I die. You are
ruthless and
disgusting like Satan himself. You are
vile and
cruel and
apathetic. The worst part is that I see you every day and I can never hide.

i love you, but you scare me. i shake when i think about giving all of myself to you. i am alone forever in my existential thoughts that you can never enter. your touch feels warm and comforting. if i let myself enjoy precious'll just be ripped away from me like
thing. the worst part is that the only way to protect me is to not let myself believe you love me. please love me.

I am desperate. Clutching on for dear life to anyone and hugging until I turn blue. I am
trembling and
peeing and
crying. I am
screaming and
bleeding and
struggling. The worst part is that nobody knows that I am a child who just wants a hand to hold.

Life is meaningless and horrible. I feel grimy and disgusting, twisting in and out of all of their scraping hands as I walk miserably
on and
on and

I'm dying. I mean it--I am dying.

Someone help me.
Someone touch me.
Someone care about me.

I'm dying.
all I want is to be happy and safe
Bailey Martin Mar 2018
I'm laying here looking over at you while you sleep, and I'm thinking about how absolutely precious you are, and about just how much you mean to me. How are you so sweet and lovely? So soft and caring, so wonderful to be around? Never do I find myself wanting to be away from you. You're raw honey at its finest. So pure and thick on my mind. I love you.
Bailey Martin Mar 2018
February has come and gone,
It took my ritual with it.
Many deaths took place here and
A new life might begin.

If fate fills me with the miracle of life,
I will be honored to host.
Because when I count my blessings...
You count the most.
Bailey Martin Feb 2018
He'll never know the agony he caused me

He'll never know he ruined my life

He won't ever care that I want to erase me

He told me he didn't care at the time.

They're all saying that my mind doesn't count

Because my issue isn't common enough

They're all talking about it as if I

Didn't die so I'm supposed to be tough.

I missed class again today

To stop myself from coming undone

This one is dedicated to the boy who thought

That an ****** was worth ruining someone.
No amount of poetry will ever make me feel better. I am utterly helpless.
Bailey Martin Dec 2017
your secrets are stuck between my ears,
your worries safely nested on my shoulders

your future tears dry on my shirt, your open heart covered by my body

your protection and happiness is my daily wish.
Bailey Martin Dec 2017
Violated constantly in the place I call home
Taking him home
Brick entryway
Not his kind of pretty, not her kind of handsome
What if I'm okay and I just don't know it
Dirt on my face
The question isn't "what will happen to me if I do?" It's "what will happen to them if I don't?"
Dreams of Hawaii
It critmiss
Pretty short because I'm living and loving well
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