I was once introduced to a beautiful violence. I craved the way his mouth would leave bruises on my skin, these bruises reminded me of infinities , dark and twisted.

I wanted to engrave my name into his flesh forever.

I liked how he touched me, his hands didn't gently brush over my skin , he embraced my whole body harshly.

I wanted to pierce my nails into his skin forever.

I desired his aggressive approach and how he often called me **** instead of beautiful.

I enjoyed feeling desired.
And I wanted to feel it forever.

Your words...
Your words, sneaky as a slithering snake, pierced through my heart without notice.
Your words scar me more than any blade could do.
Your words make me bleed more than any of my cuts.
Your words, spoken so innocently, yet so cruel, killed me.
They tore out my soul and ripped it to pieces, like a plain piece of paper.
Your words, the sharpest, most painful weapons imagineable.....

You are a whole ocean inside my mind.
Your name pulses through my bloodstream in waves.
I hope it’s the same for you.
And our heartbeats pump out of rhythm for now,
but if we ever meet again,
I hope our individual stories will finally fall on the same page.

The girl with purple hair is sitting at my bar again.
I think she is beautiful. And not in a way that I wanna have awesome *** with her but in a way that I want to drink chocolate martinis with her
and go shopping for christmas vests that have tinkly bells and possibly polar bears with hats on them.
She is having a full-body cry. I am the worst bartender, simply
because I don't know how to counsel people without crying back at them.
She is crying about the state of women.

I know that we come from the same rotting wood, so all I do is nod.

"How is it that three quarters of the women I know have been ***** or molested?
What does that say about the men that I know?
**** is not a man behind a bush with a knife, she laughs
It's kissing you on the mouth like whiskey at a nice bar."
The girl with purple hair and I are holding hands now,
"I only wanted an apology,
an acknowledgement of what occurred."
Grappling as artists, as girls, as ships in bottles,
how do we change any of it?
I tell her I am going to write a poem.
She says no one wants to hear a **** poem.

And I know she's right.

Have you ever seen a stampede of horses?
Do you wonder what the hooves look like from underneath?
Have you ever tasted the blood from biting your own lips because you couldn't say no loud enough?
"I never fought back. I kept my thighs tight and
closed, but once he's inside you, you wish you were the streetlamp, the
store clerk, a street lamp, a bed of calla lilies-

anything but a woman.

In that moment, our eyes glaze over, and they stay that way for years.
That's when you've lost.

Raindrops fall
Sadness walks on
wet pavements passing along
old houses.

Emotions stir
Memories crawl like
dark clouds slowly reaching for
the remaining light

July rain
You are both sad and beautiful
just like a song somewhere
in the gallows of my thoughts

Just like the cold on my skin

Just like her.