its been almost five years and i can still tell you every word those kids spat on me with
i can recite every method of victimisation they deployed and i can name each one off by heart

its been almost five years and i still get nightmares, five years and i still can’t rationalise what i did to deserve that besides being myself, five years and i still blame myself for being a target even though i know better

its been almost five years and i still can’t see past those flaws that they made me so aware of at such a young age

its been almost five years and i still can’t stand up proud and look at myself and tell you I’ve embraced those qualities that i was down trodden on because of

its been almost five years and i still can’t see past them
five years
1 825 days
43 800 hours (approximately)
and i still see that girl

not that girl, that man, the she woman with no ***** and wide shoulders and ugly man arms that was too stupid to realise they were teasing her when they called her names by code so they launched a full throttle attack every break

i still see her, smiling and laughing with them while they mocked her shrinking smaller and smaller at every word (only metaphorically of course) because all she felt were the ever-spreading canyons of her body with her flaws that dipped and rose and spread across a landscape that would never be good enough

its been almost five years and i don’t hold them accountable for any of it
they didn’t build or live in that body (it was only i)
they didn’t chose to let it get to me (it was only i)
they didn’t decide to not tell anyone and let it fester so deep until the smell of ***** was the only thing that could mask the wreak of the insecurities left behind

i don’t know if i’d be different if none of that had occurred because who can blame events that happened five years ago for who i am today

all i know is i still wait, i still stay up long after everything is dark and still and quiet and the events still replay the words still hang over

amplified (by only i)

its been almost five years and all i can say is i hope those wretched people are better off now


(i hate that im so weak)

//ale a

I often find myself looking at my skin and I think about you,, I think about so many things like the way you made it feel with words - but also with your body. About how you made me feel comfortable in it and how sometimes I wanted to peel myself out of it because it was never going to be enough for you and Im sorry about that I wanted to be better but I couldn’t and now we’re over and I’m sorry.

I know you always hated apologises and this isn’t one and it ought to be and I’m sorry its not\

earlier in the morning light that either renews me or ruins me I wrote something on myself for you, I’m not sure why I inscribed it on my body that you will never touch again both because why would you want to and I wouldn’t let you, but I did, so, you should know (more because I can’t stand keeping it to myself when its meant for you)

My heart (scar) doesn’t need (scar) you.
You never helped it
bloom. Now I’m stuck
scrawling (bruise) stories on my skin to cover scars
that I made, but you left.

everything sounds pretentious when you read over it especially when its written in ink on such an ugly canvas and I’m sorry. I miss you even though you don’t feel the same.




//ale a