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Delaney Jun 2015
People say,
I should be over it.
"It was, like, a year ago. Stop being so afraid."
Don't you people see?
A year ago is all too close to me.
(and, for the record-- it's 11 months and 6 days)
How do you just 'get over' the loss of your peace of mind?
I sure as **** haven't figured it out.
I still see him
in my nightmares,
in the flashbacks.
Some people think I actually am over it.
But I know that I am not.
I flinch when others touch me without warning,
I cannot open the front door,
I'm unable to walk down the street.
I'm so hyper aware of what happened to me.
I swear, he is buried in my sheets.

So don't tell me to get over it.
Unless you can somehow tell me how.
  

                         (d.d.b)
The anniversary is coming up and I'm not ready.
Delaney Jun 2017
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
Delaney Jun 2017
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.
Delaney May 2015
My brain is a flower,
and right now,
among the multitude
of anxiety attacks,
and copious amounts of stress,
I feel as if
I
am
wilting.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jan 2016
and i wonder if we spoke today
you might deny it all.
I wonder if you might care
to hear about
the flashbacks;
the nightmares, the fear.
Do you think about how
it must affect me
that I have to face you every day?

Don't think
I can take it
much longer, anyway.
You burn my eyes,
your voice curses my ears.
Your smile swallows me whole
and I wonder,
I truly wonder,
do you even regret it at all?
A mess of thoughts about my ******.
Delaney Jun 2015
Cruella*
is my stepmother's name
in my phone.
If that doesn't explain
our relationship,
then I don't know what does.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
It doesn't matter.
Don't you see?
You can break and batter,
but I'm still me.

You can punch and kick,
and shout verbal abuse,
But you don't get to pick;
I'm not a tool for your use.

I may be hurt and scarred
but you cannot change me.
You can make my life hard,
but I'm still what you see.

For better or for worse, I'm still me.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I am
a massive wave of contradictions.
I am
too complex for myself.
I am
a lost soul,
searching for an anchor.
I am
the epitome of meloncholy.
I am
a mere flicker
in a world of glowing stars.
I am
me.
Whether I like it,
or not.



(d.d.b)
Don't question my late night thoughts.
Delaney Jun 2015
Was I too complex for you?
Tell me, what is it that I did wrong?
I know it must of been a lot,
For you to throw me away to rot.
You scream words of hatred,
while I cry tears of grief.
Grievence for the love
that we once shared.
It was a passionate,
beautiful love.
A love that along the way
became one sided.
I will always love you, my dear.
You could stab me
and I'd apologize
for bloodying up your knife.
I apologize everyday.
I wasn't enough.
I wish I had been.
  

     (d.d.b)
Sometimes I still think of her.
Delaney Jun 2015
From what I've known,
I know that I know little
on this particular subject.
Because, darling,
What the **** does family
even mean?



(d.d.b)
Delaney Jul 2015
He might appear to be sweet and loving,
but let me tell you the truth, dear.
That boy is pure candy-coated misery.
He'll tear you apart in ways you cannot even imagine,
and your soul will be stained with a bruise from his blow.
Trust me, for I know;
I know all too well.
Steer clear of the train who will surely derail you.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
Melancholy thoughts,
and crimson stained long sleeves,
are all I have become.
And that fact makes me wish,
that I were nothing but a corpse,
buried under feet of dirt and roots and insects,
gone.


(d.d.b)
Delaney May 2015
See me.
Not the facade I pose,
The true me.
Explore my indecorous soul
instead of getting lost at my mask
of calm, mild delight.
That, my dear friend,
is the facade.
See me.
Dive into the abyss,
of melancholy thoughts
and elaborate dreams.
Breathe in my imperfections.
They are plentiful.
Please,
see me.

(d.d.b)
Delaney May 2015
I know.
I know I am an easy target.
I break too easily;
my soul is unbearably fragile.
You would think that
my heart would be calloused,
but that is far from the truth.
My pain is still
an open wound.
Bleeding freely
as it is picked and sliced
with elongated knives
of those all around me.
I feel it much too deeply.
I know.
God, how I am forced to know.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Aug 2015
My art teacher requires me to have an x-acto knife in my possession.
This, my friend, is a bad idea.
You see, she is blissfully unaware of my harmful tendencies.

But I can assure you, that if there's one thing I know,
it's that knife will be used on more than an art project.

School in itself is a trigger.
Knives and razors are the index finger that pulls said trigger,
setting off an explosion of blood along my wrist.

See, dear art teacher, that knife will hit my skin,
whether I want it to or not.
In a moment of weakness,
of stress,
I will turn to that available outlet.

I do not know what is scarier.
Having that knife with me every day,
or knowing that a twisted part of me wants to use it.

(d.d.b)
School starts in two days and it's going to be ****.
Delaney Jun 2015
My heart is a pin cushion.
Various people have stuck needles
into it; but that's its purpose.
That's the good part.

The bad part, you see,
is when the needles are taken out.
I no longer have a meaning,
and I no longer feel loved
or useful.

Because what is a pin cushion
without needles?
I've got the holes
where they once were,
but that is all I have.

My heart is a petty, scarred
little pin cushion.
And there aren't any needles in sight.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I cannot, for the life of me, get over it.

I cannot, no matter how hard I try, forget what happened.

It is killing me.

It is destroying me.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
It is dangerous to be me.
My life is a hazard,
but it didn't come with a warning sign.

No, it stays hidden from most,
but I know the truth.
My mind is permanently set
on self-destruct mode.
There is no off switch.

It is dangerous to be me.
Caution: Keep Away.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2017
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
Delaney Jun 2017
In a world of right turns
go left-
your mind will thank you
for it at some point
or another.

-d.b
Delaney Jun 2015
Sometimes,
I don't know which is worse.
The event that took place,
or everything that happened thereafter.



(d.d.b)
Delaney Sep 2015
I was unaware
of the danger coming my way
the first time our eyes met.
A simple glimpse,
a shy smile;
how was I to know?

Perhaps I should have seen it
in the way you looked too long,
too penetratingly, too diligently;
but, it turns out, I did not.

We gazed
a plethora of times,
before I accurately learned who you were.

Your irises were a blur, frantic,
glaring down at me.
I was like an animal, imprisoned beneath your grasp.
Struggling,
crying,
why hadn’t I seen this coming?

Your eyes, no remorse,
Piercing into mine, staring,
As you stole from my soul.

I no longer look into your eyes,
although I see you every day.
Eye contact, you see, will only stand to remind.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
Do you know what it's like to see everything?
To see the punchline before the joke;
to see the ending at the beginning.

Sometimes, I do.
Sometimes, I don't.

And when I do, I really do.
I call every play,
I finish every sentence.

But when I don't, I really don't.
I am uncharacteristically oblivious,
and I do not see any warning signs.
It terrifies me.

I want to see everything, always.
Because when I don't...
Oh, when I don't....
Nothing good ever happens.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
They say I'm crazy,
but if that's the case,
then what does that make them?
Becuase it sure as **** isn't sane.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jul 2015
Run the extra mile,
write the extra page.

Go farther than expected of you,
for it will surely pay off in the end.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I don't wish harm on people
                                                           BUT

to the guy who stole my innocence,
I hope you know that I wake up at night
screaming from the nightmares
of what you did to me.
You, you ******* monster,
who thought it was okay to ignore me
when I told you "no."
Who thought it was okay to pin me down
on my own **** bed.
I hope you get justice,
however it may come.
The courts aren't listening to me,
but you'll get what's coming.
You have to.
It isn't fair if you don't.

I don't wish harm on people
                                                          BUT
Maybe you're the one exception.





                                          (d.d.b)
Delaney Dec 2015
I feel
forbidden to live properly.

I feel
like a waste of oxygen consumption.

I feel
shackled to my insecurities.

I feel
as if I no longer want to feel at all.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Aug 2015
I'm sitting in a desk,
towards the back of the room,
the first time I have a flashback about you in class.

You're sitting across the room,
but it feels as if you're breathing down my neck.
My concentration shifts from taking notes,
to an all too vivid memory.

Suddenly I'm pinned down
on my own bed
with you towering over me.

The teacher talks of hominids,
but all I hear is my own screams.
A chorus of "No"
that was heavily ignored.

My breathing is shallow,
my heartbeat is rapid.

I've missed an entire slide by the time I snap out of it.

I'm not gonna borrow the notes from you, that's for sure.


(d.d.b)
fun fact: this happened to me today and I'm in ****
Delaney Jun 2015
I haven't relapsed in months,
but tonight I am in danger.
The dreaded need is in me,
it's burning like a forest fire across my wrist.
I don't want to, but parts of me do.

I want to rip my skin open and that is so terrifying


(d.d.b.)
I don't want to I don't want to do god I hate feeling this way
Delaney Mar 2017
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)
This is likely the most personal thing I've ever written.
Delaney Jul 2015
My blood is made of the words you've said,
and the things you've done to me.
I keep cutting to release the memories,
but you won't come out, no mater how deep I go.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jul 2015
But I can’t go anywhere in this small, god-forsaken town without seeing you and having a panic attack.
Do you realize this at all?

Sometimes I can’t sleep in my own ******* bed because you made it a crime scene when you shoved me down on it while I screamed “No.”

You ****** me up. You still **** me up. And you will never be punished.

That in itself is ****** up.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Oct 2015
Old habits
ultimately die hard.
People think I've grown,
but I still do the things I did
at a younger age.
I give other students the answers,
let them copy my papers like my life depends on it,
spend more time taking photos of my homework
than actually doing it.
All because
I want them to like me.
Maybe if I give my intelligence away,
my answers,
myself,
they'll like me.
I just want to be liked.
Old habits,
like being the lost little girl
giving out answers in exchange
for a chance at a smile,
ultimately die hard.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
Old text messages are the devil
Because they show that one day
it was *"Let's go get coffee together."

And that day led to making out,
behind a shed neither of us owned.
They show that the next week,
you were on your way over
to my house.  
"On my way."
And that day...
oh, god, that day...
I trusted you.
I said no.
My trust was misplaced.
You violated me anyway.
They show that you kept in contact;
you texted me daily for a month after.
As if nothing happened.
As if my life hadn't been torn apart.
"I love you."
"You want to get coffee again?"


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I'm just a filler
in a world full of important people.*



(d.d.b.)
Delaney May 2015
I am alone.
Do not tell me I am not.
No one is there
when I wake at 3 a.m.,
sweating from the atrocious nightmares.
I stand alone
in crowded rooms.
My eyes fall on no one else
when I am crying,
in pain,
aching.
I am alone.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I was intoxicated with you,
  *but my dosage was too high.
           
 When you left me, empty,
     well, darling; the withdrawals
             **** near killed me.



(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I am drowning
in a pool of my own sorrow,
and it is the worst pain--
the worst death--
that I could have ever imagined.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jul 2015
It is pure, unadulterated ****
to remember your soft touch.
The way you laughed at my horrible jokes.
The kisses, the stars we watched,
the bus rides,
the music we both loved,
the songs we danced to together in your room.
It is all so hard, like walking on a wire that was fun before
but now my harness is gone and it's actually dangerous.
Thinking about you is a delicate disaster,
but I do it anyway.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
Will it ever makes sense?
      it doesn't make sense
Will I every be okay?
      I'm not okay
Will this pain ever end?
      God, there's so much pain...




(d.d.b)
Delaney May 2015
the cold bite of winter's breath
will always sting my skin
but I know that
it will never hurt me quite as badly
as the cold bite of metal
as I drag a sharp razor blade
across my fragile wrist


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I am the epitome
of what you do not want
in a
girl,
lover,
daughter,
friend.
I appear to be on a different level,
My own little isolation.
I apologize profusely.
I am not what anyone wants.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jul 2015
But, darling, no one is understanding this.
My abilities are flowers and you're picking off all the petals
before I even have time to grow more.
My brain is a garden that I can only water when I'm alone,
so please understand that I will wilt and dry out when exposed
to too much social interaction for too long of a time.
I need time to recuperate, to grow, to freshen up.
Because a flower is no fun when it's wilted, and all the petals are gone.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jun 2015
I don't want to fall asleep becuase I know you'll be in my nightmares

Your touch.
Your voice.
Your sly smile.

The way you always take "No"
to mean "Yes."

I fight the unconciousness my body craves to save my mind from the vicious terror that is the memory of you*


(d.d.b)
He is in my nightmares and I honestly want to stay awake forever to keep them away.
Delaney Jun 2015
My eyes are weary
and teary.
My smile is faded
and painted.
My heart is torn
and forlorn.

I'm broken, dear.
Far too broken, I fear.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Jul 2015
The fear still lingers,
and it's not always manifested
in the nightmares and flashbacks.

No, sometimes the fear is
looking around corners
and not being able to walk outside alone.
Fear is jumping at a loud noise,
or freezing at an unexpected touch.
It's not answering the phone when it's an unmarked number.
The fear is making sure I've locked the door at least twice;
it's in the scars on my wrist
and the way I can't handle raised voises.

The fear is in everything I do,
and its been over a year since he terrified me.


(d.d.b)
Loosely written about me being ***** and how it effects me in unusual ways.
Delaney Mar 2016
and if I am allowed
might I say
it's becoming too much.
Every aching day,
I search for reasons to keep going
but my dear, you cannot see
the despair engulfing my soul.

It hurts.
Dear god, it hurts.

No thought not turned over;
no mistake not reprimanded a hundred
thousand godforsaken times.

It is all simply too much.

(d.d.b)
Delaney Aug 2015
But it doesn't even make sense, does it?
The way we love without actually loving;
the way we look into each others eyes,
and we both know we see something deeper,
but we aren't allowed to speak.
We don't really talk about it.

You wrap your arm around me and I am paralyzed,
but I like it.
The way you smile, the way you laugh.
I swear, every cliche applies to you.
Perhaps it's wrong, I hope it's right,
and I know you see my feelings
but I don't seem to care anymore.
We don't really talk about it.

I want to kiss your lips.
I want to be able to look you in the eyes for longer
than .2 seconds,
because they are a wondrous sea of curiosity.
I want to be able to call our friendship more than that;
I want to be us.
There's just a small, miniscule problem...
We don't really talk about it.

(d.d.b.)
Delaney Jun 2015
When I was young,
I believed in magic.
I always did "spells"
to keep away my faux enemy.
I called my enemy "The Darkness."
Imagine, this young girl,
only in elementary school,
running around and rambling about
"We must keep the darkness away."
"The darkness is going to get me."
My 'friends' turned me away,
finding me horribly odd.

A few years later,
magic hopes long forgotten,
it turned out I was right.
The Darkness came for me.
Who knew that little child
could have predicted
my futute mental disorders.


(d.d.b)
Delaney Jul 2015
Is 'Moving On' a reality?
Or merely a fantasy?
It feels like the latter,
because no matter what I try--
I still can't get the thought of you out of my head.

You plague my thoughts like an infectious disease.
Everyday your face is there, reminding me--
torturing me.

'Moving On' feels like some cruel fairy tale of false hope,
and I was just dumb enough to fall for the idea momentarily.
Hook, line, and sinker.

(d.d.b)
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