I still wake up some nights
with the taste of your tongue on my lips
my dreams are so vivid
I can feel your fingertips on my skin

when I close my eyes tight enough
I can hear your heartbeat as my head rests
on an empty pillow

your ghost lives in my room,
in our bed

dear mom

you planted my heart
in a *** of hope
and watered it with forgiveness,
you were not disappointed
when I bloomed into an exact version
of you

but I was disappointed
when I fell in love with men
who left,
just like my father did

As I lay in his bed full of secrets
I ask myself
Why i allow myself to be one of them

you are not convincing me
by pressing your palms against my inner thighs
to spread them apart
you are not convincing me
when you push my shoulders deeper into the mattress
you are not convincing me
when your lips are pressed to my ear
telling me I like it

you are forcing me,
you are taking away my power
to say no

and that
is not consent

There’s nothing worse than feeling so completely and utterly sad you can’t even cry. You can’t even stand up. You can’t even open your eyes. Nothing makes sense. Not the weather. Not the date. You can’t tell the mornings from nights because your mind is dark whether the sun is shining or not. It’s a numbing feeling. Completely numb. You couldn’t feel a knife going through your chest numb. It’s the kind of sad you don’t come out of. The kind of sad that consumes you. No ones voice could make this better. No ones embrace could make this better. No drug. No alcohol could make this better. No warm bubble bath or junk food could make this better. No man. No woman. No human could make this better. I’m not even sure that death could make this better. I think even when I’m gone, I will be in pain.

you can tell me you hate me
but you will never hate me
more than I hate me

Isn't ripping a
Soulmate away from your insides,
Too,
A kind of suicide?