My trauma isn't based in arguments of woman vs man,
It's patterns vs observation;
Post-traumatic self-preservation.
Giving explanations to my hesitation
is a sign of my thirst for consolation,
not an invitation to argue my trauma into rehabilitation
when you don't have all the information...
My heart sleeps every night under a deep rooted tree formation
that shades over all of my humiliation and devastation.
I may be miles away from where I first experienced my trust's suffocation,
I just need to rest here for a little while longer...
The sun is healing and always comes out eventually,
but I can't heal from any light that's cast artificially.
While destruction to my foundation eventually brings creation,
that which is planted can not sprout without germination...
I'm still waiting for my seed's coat to rupture
so I can spread my roots into the earth and learn to trust her.
I'm rebuilding the burned down home that housed my trust in men,
I'm laying bricks down every day until I can believe again....
That I'm not in danger anymore.
That I can move my body away from the door I've been barricaded against,
long before the break in, and ever since.
Because the punches just kept coming;
It was never raining, it was always pouring.
And I'm still floating in those wells that are shaded deeply under trees.
It's not a challenge for you to find a resolve to...
I'm not looking to argue.
I just want you to believe that I'm trying every day,
that I'm not stubborn in my ways...
I'm finding a way out of the darkness; I'm finding a way to feel safe.
I'm always looking for the light.

tell me again about how you're living life different
about your rose colored cheeks and swimming against the current
you've got me filled with artificial intensity
while you're leaking out your acidic hypocrisy

Scrolling my phone mindlessly
breezing past a selfie from someone in a bar
on the windowsills I used to sit...
I don't necessarily miss it;
but there's melancholy for the memories,
the smell of cigarettes on my fingertips,
and ***** soaking my worries...
tonight it feels like that could be nice,
cause I haven't been able to sleep for days...
been having nightmares every time I do;
and everything I write just feels redundant
but I've got so much I wanna say...
summer makes me feel more lonely
than when I'm under winter skies,
got so many parts of myself I don't recognize...
but every street has a memory,
and I'm just trying to move on
where bartenders once memorized my drinks,
they now probably wouldn't remember my name....
quit smoking **** in the spring
I'm spending money recklessly
******* myself over royally
I just wanna feel something good

Aurora borealis skies
bruises on my thighs
high fidelity type of ****
sharing the same color palette
I never get tired
of looking at those hues
but only when I'm looking up,
or directly at you
cause I'll ignore all the colors
when looking down on my own pores
unless I put it there deliberately with a brush
covering my sores
by mimicking the stars
with glitter crush
I could have stayed under that sky all night
to try and spin myself a thread made out of the light
because I've got a deep desire
to stitch that borealis glow right into my scars
to make that sparkle become my seams
to produce tones that replace muscle memory screams
Yet all the same,
the struggles teach something
and it's that these scars
are a requisite to growing
and bravery seeps out when I leave them showing
because there's a glow in melancholy
and sometimes, in metaphorically burst veins
because when art comes from tragedy
there's a glow in pain

That never needed stitching

I want to unravel my brain’s threads
that collectively weigh me down like lead
Turn the strings into blankets,
and make a fort in my living room to shelter inside of.
Every day rituals with intention to gift me peace,
are slowly becoming chores to avoid guilt and grief.
I thought life would be so different.
I never thought it would be this hard;
and while b0mbs fall on children,
I’m feeling sorry for myself and my deck of cards.
I'm daydreaming in dystopia.