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 Sep 2018
Rebekah Wilson
Always feeling
this colicky
infant--it is
grasping to me
Days seem to be
never ending;
The screaming is
never relenting
It seems that it
never quiets,
telling me I
cannot fight it
It always wants
my attention;
Carrying it
causes tension
And day by day,
it grows and grows;
the increasing
weight never slows
The weight I must
hold seems too much
Some days I want
to just give up
I keep going;
hope for the best,
praying that soon
the infant rests
The others say
this cannot last;
repeating that
this too shall pass
Their infants have
all cried and cried
Soon enough
the cries subside
So they advise
to build a bridge,
pick myself up
get over it
But, alas, no!
Mine won't lessen--
my infant's name
is depression.
2020: Look, infants **** and you can yeet them.
 Sep 2018
Rebekah Wilson
If I disappeared;
just gave up,
would a sole notice
my life had stopped?

Maybe entangled,
they would stay;
their eyes locked,
keys thrown away.

Would they remember the loneliness
that possessed my being,
or would they remember the lies
I allowed them to believe?
2020: “Your ***** is God” just came on and it was perfect timing.
Also I did disappear—from a terrible life in a terrible “not a cult” and yeah..nobody really noticed. Good. Because I don’t even recognize this person anymore. So glad she’s not me.
 Sep 2018
Rebekah Wilson
It must be nice to be a cloud; to get so full of what surrounds: all evaporates. It has no say, but then, when full, it relieves the pain. Rain pours down for what can seem, at times, to be eternity. Though it's dark, soon comes light, and the world is full of life.
To be a cloud would be a dream; instead I'm trapped inside of me. Like a cloud, I soak up pain. Overwhelmed, I wait for rain. It grows and grows until it hurts. Still in drought, I wish to burst. Skies turn dark, yet try as I may, my eyes refuse to precipitate. Alas--they do; storms pour down until my heels can't feel the ground. Overpouring flood waters rise; I'm drowning fast in my cries. At last, it stops; I look around--no life has grown upon the ground; instead what's left are puddles of strife to evaporate again into my life.
2020: Y’all. That rain was evangelical Christianity and suppressed sexuality. I’m a cloud now. Free and beautiful and incredible. And  like, my sky is cloudy—with all the lady clouds. Such a perfect day.
 Sep 2018
Rebekah Wilson
I do not want to be here
not a reference to this chair
nor wherever I am
living is too much to bear

I do not want my body
It is beautiful in its time
that is not the issue
it just doesn't feel it's mine

I do not want to marry
they tell me I'll change my mind
but someone who won't touch me
will be very hard to find

I do not want children
this is not a worry of wealth
I simply couldn't do it
as I'm still a child myself

I do not force "giving hugs"
for not all children feel safe
as once upon a time
help for me came too late

I did not ask for this life
nor the things that have been done
but I must act grateful
for the sacrifice of the Son

I do not want to be here
It is God who wishes I live
but hell is worse than earth
so something has to give

I do not want to deny
myself and my desires
but life was not made for me
it was made for something higher
2020: Lol I definitely want a wife. I want her to touch me so much. My body is amazing and mine. I love my life & I want to be here. And wow my view of God and hell were so tragic..I actually thought this was inspirational. This is like..kinda sad.

— The End —