And oh,
it is almost
always
the same.

Unconscious, I have dreams:
and they are, usually, infected;
tainted by, and only
by: you.

Perhaps my tattered
subconscious cannot seem
to let go.
No, I suppose,
I cannot forget nor forgive
just how detrimental
an impact you had
upon my fractured soul.

Perhaps this is why
in all my dreams
I always see
you.
You're in the shadows,
always lurking, always
ready; ready to hurt me
a million times over
and over
and over
and over again, and god,
you really never left
this bed, did you?

d.b

There are indecorous mistakes
found in this world,
in this life,
that cannot, despite
all efforts of frantic,
pure, desperation:
be erased
in the slightest.

d.b.

Perhaps if I
can refrain
from asking,
I might never know
just how much
is so
inherently wrong
with me.


d.b

Open a can in front of her
and then ask her why
she flinches
at the sound.

Ask her why
the mere scent of beer
coaxes stomach acid up
her throat.

Go on, ask her why
her childhood memories
are tainted
by an alcoholic fog.

Ask her why 'father'
is a six letter word,
and each letter
is holding a 30-pack of misery.

-db

Mesmerizing never described
me in any sense
of the word.

I have only ever been
sharp corners
and dark shadows;
never the light
in a room.

No one brightens
at my presence, no
I do not inflict joyful
inclinations. For I
have only ever been
the background--
only ever meant to be
in the back of rooms,
removed from the crowd,
invisible.

-db

if every year of my life
were a chapter
and I could only remove one
from my story:
I would tear out chapter 14.

I would rip all the pages,
mutilate beyond repair,
shred. Shred shred shred
burn burn burn until
nothing was left but ashes.

14, when I was naive.
14, when I thought kissing a boy
would make even me think that I
was straight, 14
when a hot summer event suddenly
burned me hotter than the sun
ever could, because
at 14, a boy I called friend
didn’t listen.

14, he’s in my house,
14, he’s in my room,
14, he’s on top of me,
14, he’s forcing his way in me and I…
I am telling him to stop.

14, my cries go ignored,
14, he’s stronger than me,
14, my parents aren’t home,
14, I didn’t tell anyone he was coming,
14, he could hurt me if I run,
14…where would I even run to?

Shame; Shame because 14
is the story of when I said stop…
and then stopped trying to stop
what I wanted to stop and had asked
for to stop in the first place but
he did not listen to the word
‘stop.’

14, when fear paralyzed me.
14, when what was less than an hour
felt like a lifetime. 14
was crying when he finally left,
14 was seeing blood and knowing
it wasn’t my menstrual cycle.
14 was when my whole life
changed.

In chapter 14 I had innocence
stolen. In 14 I started high school;
where I had two classes with him
everyday.

14 was acting like it was fine,
I was fine, it was all fine,
until it wasn’t, and
14 was police reports and questions
and being accused of lying,
14 was “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
But we are chapters away from that now and
justice has never once been applied, and
he roams free and
I still feel trapped under his body.

Chapter 14 would be entitled
“****”
and I would erase it from my story
if only such an action
were possible.

(d.d.b)