Consequences are funny things
So why don't I laugh anymore?
The sun doesn't shine on me,
And your illness no longer affects my body
Or my soul.

We shared a bed
Flooded with feelings
You nearly drowned me in lust.
But drowning isn't so bad
Once you get used to it.

We worry about things
That we were never concerned with before.
The possibility of an unwanted love child
Creeps over us like sad shadow.
It is barely plausible at this point
And still, you worry.
I wish I was more distraught.

I cannot feel your distinct and lowly presence
Yet I still want you around.
I want you to make me feel alive
Even if I die in the process.
I'll do anything for a fix
Regardless of the residue it leaves behind.

Consequences are funny things
So why don't I laugh anymore?
The sun does not shine on me
For another reason:
My own illness has already ****** my body
And my soul.

Long time no see, my love
I cannot say I've missed this
Feeling of brokenness and emotional free fall
Or that I miss feeling
Nothing at all.

So numb, you make me
You strip my energy from me
Until I navigate life, or my lack there of
As only a lonely ghost

You fill my head with
Despicable, menacing thoughts of
Something resembling death
Something dark and dingy
A place I would like to avoid

I'm clinging to everything.
Things I never had
Friends I never loved
Lovers who turned away.
You are the only constant in my life.

You keep repeating
Some sickening chant, your nursery rhyme
You say
Not even therapy will combat me.
I wish you were wrong.

So welcome back, depression
Anxiety and sadness are your guests this time.
I hope you find pleasure
As I am drifting through life
As I am a shell of a person
As if it is not me, not me at all.
I unravel in my own thoughts
And they entangle me, cutting off my air supply.

I cannot say I've missed you at all.

In my home, I have been:
Afraid to talk about certain things,
Most things.
Fearful to express my views
With the possibility of getting jumped on.
Taught that I am worthless
Or at least
Worth less than most other people my age.
Told that I am selfish.
Shamed.
Sheltered.
A disgrace.
Misunderstood.

I will talk to my children about ***,
Safe ***, the way it was never discussed with me.
But if my daughter comes home pregnant,
I will not banish or brand her.
I will continue to love her.

I will not force any religion down their throats.
I may expose them to some,
But they can feel free to tell me that it is not for them
And we will try something else.
I want them to come to believe in something,
Not feel that they have to.

If my daughter brings home a girlfriend,
Or my son a boyfriend,
I will embrace them.
My household will be open and accepting.
My children will not have any reason to fear
Expressing themselves.
Their true selves.
The thing I could never express.

I will not overlook it if my child has scars on her wrist
Skips meals
Shows signs of abuse.
I will not tell myself
That this cannot happen.
But I will try to help her,
Not diagnose her
Or shame her out of her behaviors.

I will accept my children
For everything for which I was ridiculed.

Once, we were pure
Innocent and loved by someone
And we showed love to everyone.
Once, we were children.

Then, in the blink of an eye
That white and holy innocence
Was washed with scarlet
Stained with ebony
And swiftly destroyed.

We tried to be brave
Endure it while we could
We became strong, yet so calloused
But eventually lost ourselves
Our childhood was put to rest
And yet, there was no alter or music or flashy sign
It just dropped dead in its tracks.

On some level, we know that
Floating between this childlike state of mind
And the much too mature circumstances
Will take its toll
But we learn to adapt quickly.

Then, things change.
We begin to notice how adults
Adults who have had the chance to
Fully develop in every aspect
Still fight like petty preschoolers
Or gossip like catty teenagers.

We are still young
So watching these "grown ups" quarrel
Is appalling
Or is it the norm?

At this point,
I laugh at such arguments
And yet a very specific segment of my heart
Is uncomfortable and confused by
Why this has to happen.

I am not afraid of conflict.
But I am disconcerted by
The way many people who are supposed to be
Role models and authority figures
Handle such situations.

I see it at work
At church
At home
At school
Everywhere.

While I am slowly learning
To become a woman
To make my own choices
To follow my own path
I am a minority, perhaps.

Perhaps, we should stop letting those who are still, by the law's definition,
Children
See those who are their supposed leaders
Act like children.

You have these wrong judgements about me
And the haughty expectations.
I bet if someone asked a question:
"Do you know your daughter?"
You would say
"Yes."

After all,
You have lived in the same house with her
For sixteen and a half years.
But you can only begin to imagine
The life that I lead.

You know I am liberal,
But my feminist views would shock and disgrace you.
Get your conservative head out of your ***, please.
And realize that I care about people
Not politics.

You know I was molested when I was young.
You do not know that a friend has since
Abused my body in unmentionable and uninvited ways.
But I cannot tell you this.
I do not want you to reinforce the idea
That I am overreacting.

You think I am selfish and that all I do
Is pick fights.
I'm actually terrified of rejection
And have minimal self-esteem.

You think that I enjoy going to church
But truthfully, I do not agree with their theology or interpretations
Of most things.

Plus, most Christians are hypocrites.
It is so easy to point the finger
Without actually spending a day in someone else's life.
Oh did I forget to mention
I'm bisexual, I drink, and I have *** before marriage
I'm not exactly up to their standards
Or yours.

This just scratches the surface
Of the reasons why you don't know your daughter at all.

A cup of milk
Three egg whites
One broken heart
A splash of inspiration
A dash of a cutting addiction
A few years of a mild eating disorder
But recently, it has aged and become stronger
A hearty helping of low self-esteem
A handful of ****** childhood memories
A pinch of restlessness and insomnia
A lifetime of battles

The end result will be worth the fight.

Terrified, he stood there
Lame like he’d been shot
And taken out again

Horrified, I laid there
For days and days, I stayed
Two wounded soldiers
One cause, one fight

Out of the right
Into the wrong
Fading the night
Into the dawn
It’s like opposites all over
With me fighting your battles
It’s like you and I need closure
From this disaster

We broke our spirits
No prior knowledge was needed
You practice what you preach
And I’m practicing empathy
In the worst way

Out of the right
Into the wrong
Fading the night
Into the dawn
It’s like opposites all over
With me fighting your battles
It’s like you and I need closure
From this disaster

Hello, I’m outdated again
I’m sorry that you let me in
I guess it wasn’t worth it
Or was it?

Out of the right
Into the wrong
Fading the night
Into the dawn
It’s like opposites all over
With me fighting your battles
It’s like you and I need closure
From this

Out of the right
Into the wrong
Fading the night
Into the dawn
It’s like opposites all over
With me fighting your battles
It’s like you and I need closure
From this disaster

We’re longing for closure, for freedom
From this disaster

I'm a wreck
I can't be alone
Yet it's all that I want sometimes

I break
So fast and so swiftly
I'll take no one with me
And yet I am wishing
Someone would save me

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you

I've tried to conform
So many times before
I've failed again and again

They'll love you for the moment
Then throw you back where you began

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you

We're so beautiful
When we're wasting away
We're so precious
When we're broken

And I pray
This won't take me from you
And I'll stay
Stay right here in loo of it all

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you
Not him, not them
Just me

I can see the truth
Ever so clearly.
You blinded me before,
But they have shown me that
I am not at fault
I am not to blame
I was a child the first time
And the second
I was not thinking clearly
And you did not listen when I said
No.
I will not let your lies
Distort my mind, my being.
I have finally been set free
I have finally been disillusioned.

I find no luster in anything
And I thought bringing you back
Would bring meaning to my life again.
I would love you to the moon and back
If you would only let me.
But instead,
You left me hanging among the stars.

Clothes shed like old skins
Our feelings are left on the floor somewhere in between.
We will not stop, cannot stop
The smell of you makes my eyes sting
And your touch makes me melt.

Our lust burns like a cigarette
And love is the smoke that chokes us
Until we both black out.

In fact,
You bought me a pack of Marlboros that day
On your way to my house.
We sat on the deck intertwined
As I smoked my life away.

And now
I don't know what to feel
But it is better than feeling nothing at all.

Go ahead.
Remind me how much you love me
How much I mean to you.
How much you know I can change.
I would just love to hear your lies.

Or you can
Yell and scream
Tell me I'm fat
Tell me I'm selfish
Try to diagnose me every time I ***** up.
I would not be surprised.

Criticize me, I dare you.
It would not be the first time
And it certainly will not be the last.
Am I ruining your idea
Of a "perfect family"?
I hope I have sent it to its grave.

I wish you knew what you did to your child.
You made her afraid to open her mouth
Due to her fear of judgement.
There is no question
That you have played a role in her depression
As well as her eating disorder.
You have made her feel worthless.
You have made her feel like nothing but a number.
You have created a girl who is obsessed with perfection.
And the worst part is,
You don't even understand how bad it has gotten.

You do not know what I have been through.
A friend took advantage of me in a major way
While I was not in a proper state of mind.
But you would say that I should have been more careful,
That I should not have been sneaking around in the first place.
I wish I could tell you
That some days I just want to rip my skin off of my bones
Because I feel gross.

What he did to me was wrong,
But you would not see it that way.
I have a hard time convincing myself of the fact
That this should not have happened.
It is difficult for me not to blame myself
Or not to shut down
Because those who I have told continue to tell me I am overreacting
Or that I did something to lead him on.
I fear that you would do the same.

All I want
Is for you to say that I am alright
For once in my life.
I wish you would compliment me
Or tell me that you're proud
So maybe I could start to believe it, too.

Yes, your younger daughter is the perfect kid.
And we have both been brought up the same way.
But she has not had the experiences that I have had.
It is not fair for you to compare the two of us
As if I do not do it enough already.

So what can I say?
If I am going to drown,
Then let me drown.
Or if you can stand up on your own
Take responsibility for your role in this
Throw me a lifeline,
Then maybe I can be okay.
Maybe I can escape this cycle of destruction.

I cannot get up, cannot move.
My body is limp and shaken
I am clinching onto things I never had.
Take my freezing hand
Pretend you know how I feel.
I want to roll over and sleep again.
I do not know if I can make through today.
This
Is
Not
My
Day.

I wish I could break
Shatter into a million pieces
Of sharded glass, waiting to be stepped on.
Causing you to bleed wouldn't hurt me
Because I would already be broken.

This universe doesn't give a ****
Whether we're moving
Or camping out on life's sidelines.
The doers, in the end
Meet the same fate as the dreamers.

I want you to break me.
Work me until I fall apart
Until I can't take it anymore.
At least then
I will overdose on my need for perfection
Before I die of it.
You can take my needle from me
Before my heart stops beating.
Before it turns my blue vein black.

Then maybe I can stop craving
Everything that hopes to **** me off.

I used to fear loneliness.
I wondered if I would ever get married,
Or feared that no one would ever want me.
I am not scared of being by myself anymore,
But am more concerned that if or when I get married,
I could fall out of love.
I could be the 50% that ends in divorce
Or I could be the unspoken statistic
That ends up staying together
But making each other's lives miserable.
I have seen it happen far too often.
I am not afraid of being without a mate,
But of being far more alone and secluded with one
Than I ever was before.

Walking through days as a zombie
Begins to remind you that nothing is as it was
And never will be again.
Numbness entraps me
Pick up my lifeless body
With your bare hands, I beg you
Darling don't let go.

Sinfulness no longer feels exciting or dangerous.
Sadness is no longer sadness.
Happiness is illusive.
Life has the tendency to lose its beauty
Because I cannot feel.

So why not take
One more cut to my wrist
One more sip from the glass
One more drag of the sweet smoke of forgetfulness.
One more dose of your potent love
Or your homicidal lust.
You were my *******, my addiction.
Consume me once again
And let me infatuate you once more.
So that I can stop feeling so dead.

But I cannot make you love me.
I want you to stay,
But I cannot make you hold me.
Our friends have all left us,
And our flowers are merely weeds,
The ones that are left are dead and rotting.
They were never as beautiful as you wanted to believe.
But at least they once were true.

Even still,
I would never hope to live without you.

I write so much poetry,
That my thoughts begin in stanzas
And end in verses...

Remember when you were little
And the boogie man made a home for himself
Right underneath your sleeping place?

A bed was supposed to be a safe haven
And yet, right below said fortress
A community of demons dance and devils play
While you try to calm your mind.

Noises used to scare me when I was a child.
I was afraid of banging, squeaks, screeches, taps
Even if I knew there was nothing outside my window.
Now I am afraid of something else that comes with the night:
Silence.

Our safe havens get riddled with demons too.
Addiction, death, brokenness, self-hate
They seem to infect us
Right after we have reached our prime, or peak
Right when we are teetering on the brink of perfection
Something sends us tumbling down.
We were not far off when we were children.

Monsters do exist,
But they reside inside of us.

And as sick as it is,
Part of me wishes you had ***** me.
Not because I'm asking you to
Use and exploit my body.
You already did that when I was little.
But because had you forced me to have ***,
They couldn't tell me
I have nothing to whine about
And I wouldn't have kept silent
For seven excruciating years.

You molested me
Because you knew you could get away with it.
You pusillanimous *******.

So used to being,
The matchmaker
The connector
The ugly friend.

I was hoping to be intoxicated
By someone else's love.
Instead I get sparks to fly between two
Attractive, good-looking, well-spoken people.
And I may be be lucky enough
To live out my life in the company of a cat or two.

I told him that we had been talking.
A friend of mine, she had mentioned him the evening before
Said she found him cute.
He reciprocated,
And so some undetermined seed was planted.
A fetal relationship's egg had been fertilized.

And there, I stood
Watching as my work was completed.
Yet it could not bring myself to admire it.

I left my job that evening
With hopes of falling out of sanity.
No such luck.

My experience included
Standing next to my best friends as they kissed at midnight.
And I just basked in my awkwardness.

Maybe someday I will grow out of it.
Or even better?
Maybe someday I will learn to embrace it.

I hear your name
Whispered in shrieks
Written in blood
Spelled out in snakes.

If I step in gum,
See a child cry,
Hear a man berate his wife
For his own personal pleasure
If I see a gunfight,
Wake up coldly sweating and unaware
Hear a siren
Smoke a laced cigarette that makes me sick
Take a rusty nail through my shoe
No, make that ten rusty nails.

These are the little things that remind me each day
Of the merry memory of you.

The speed limit was 50,
And we were climbing 85.
You pushed me to go faster.
We knew we were in too deep,
Demolitions only lasts for so long.
It was too cold to take such risky measures.
We lived fast and loud,
And we never saw this disaster coming on,
Head on.
Freeze, spin, collide, blackout.

You spun me out
And totaled the mechanism of my heart.

Did you look at the title and think
This is either going to be *****
Or deep and metophorical?
You may have even giggled when you read it.
These reactions are biproducts of society.

My parents shielded my eyes when
Anything even mildly ****** was on television.
It is part of life.
It is life.
And it is not gross or wrong
It is beautiful.

Here I am going to talk about a body in the essence.
My body.

WARNING: Content may be considered
Graphic, explicit or obscene
Because I am not a size two, or a six, or even an eight.
I am sizes twelve, fourteen, and sixteen.
And I am still beautiful.

Okay, let's start with the basics.
I stripped down in front of the mirror
And really looked at myself.
Every scar and every dent I have
From trying to pick or cut off my imperfections
Remains visible.

I ran my fingers over rough skin,
Remembering how I hoped to change my situation,
In the worst way.

I looked over at the scale,
But I dare not approach that monster.
It had me fixated on a number,
Not a person.
Not me.

I do have stretch marks along my stomach,
Red and purple and white.
From weight fluctuation
Due to a number of factors,
My eating disorder being one of many.

I have swollen glands in my throat
From the intentional vomiting.
But I have not done that
In nearly three weeks.
And I plan to keep that up for much longer.

The rise of my *******,
The dip in my waist
The curve of my hips
The build in my legs

Maybe it is not desirable to you
But I am a woman,
Not a stick.
And not your plaything.

The best feeling in the world
Comes when you look at yourself
And you conclude
That while healthier is an option
You are a piece of art.

So yes,
I am working on getting stronger,
But I really do not want to be a straight line.
I am a proud woman,
Proud of who I have and will become,
All nearly two hundred pounds of me.

You left me.
Dying and afraid
Wishing on your tears
As if you were my star.
You were.
I hoped not for your commitment.

And I woke up on the bathroom floor that morning.
All I wanted to know was,
"Where did you go?"
Breath like knives,
Cutting down the back of my neck.
I remember what I want to remember.
Maybe that is why I cannot stand commitment.

Lust is empty, so vain
And yet purer and more honest
Than any banal white dress.
Is true love this imperfect?
I hope I never know,
I never will vow to be your commitment.

I live for a quick run with you.
You make my life ever so exciting.
Baby, we have tried,

Nearly four years strong and this is all we are.
A secret, shattered hearts scattered on the floor.
We played so inconspicuously,
Just hoping the other would pick up the pieces again.
We are anything but committed.

I never want to take you to church,
All dressed up and teary eyed.
I never want to say "I do"
I have no desire for commitment.

And yet, the stronghold that you have
Somewhere deep in the cavity of my chest
Will not die.
All I want is to **** it off.

I want you, more than anything.
I hate you, more than anything.
Maybe this is a different type of commitment.

We are committed to being the drug, the pill, the morphine
That keeps the other coming back for more.

Or darling, or sweetheart
But especially not babe.
You disgust me with your indecency.
Maybe some girls like when random strangers,
Mostly older men,
Scan their bodies intently.
I, frankly, am not really into that.
That is no way to attract me.

Don't touch my waste or the small of my back,
But most prominently,
Do not touch my hips or my ****.
At least not in public.
I am not insecure,
I just think that some things should remain private.

I owe you nothing,
But I deserve respect.
I am a lady,
And I expect to be treated like one.

Why is it that I never feel well anymore?
My eyes are tired,
Shown by the bags that carry them humbly.
My smile is weary,
And when you see it,
It is fake.

My stomach turns and flounders
In the dead space of limbo.
I watch you walk by from a distance,
If I have any memory of him and his hands,
His body, his snake eyes
My face begins to burn

Shaking hands,
Hot, fiery breath
My chest feels tight
And my shoulders tense.

My mind says to run far away,
But my feet will not grant me
The great gift of movement.
I quite wish they would
Be more accommodating.

Finally, my body is exhilarated
As the blast of cold air from the outside world hits me.
You can almost see the steam
Rolling off my back and out my mouth.

As much as I hate this
Sick and relentless state
I can finally feel my heart beating again.

Some say
The pain I have been subjected to
Can take a toll on a person's psyche.
I say
It just makes for better stories.
And thus is life.

So, my dear
I have some things I'd like to tell you.
I hope you choke on every word of this poem.

Where to begin?
When I was dying on the inside,
You took advantage of me
Decoded my feelings,
Bullied me all the way to second base
And beyond

How can you be so naïve
That you can convince yourself
That this was my fault?
I guess you've got everyone else fooled, too.

Nobody knows the truth.
Mom thinks I'm jumpy because I'm energetic.
Dad thinks I don't sleep well at night
Because I sleep too late in the morning.
They don't know it is because I feel *****
Because of you.

But who would believe me?
I already lied for you,
Saying you took advantage of me,
But telling them I still said yes willingly
The first time you asked.

If I told and you knew,
You would deny it avidly, saying
"It's not like I ***** you or anything."
And
"It's not like I forced you."

You're right.
I've done my homework.
It's called indecent assault
And coercion.

But I still can't bring myself to call it that,
Or to tell anyone.

So honey, you're pretty **** lucky
That it took me four months to understand
That what you did to me is wrong.

Phrase ten.
To that boy who grabbed my *** or snapped my bra strap,
It was never cute or *****.
In middle school it was annoying,
Now it's just creepy.

Phrase nine.
To that girl who thought it was really classy,
To spread rumors about my *** life.
What I do in bed does not involve you.
And if you want it to?
Sorry, honey, but I don't date haters.

Phrase eight.
To everyone who judges me because of my job.
If you are an adult,
I'm in high school.
If you are in high school,
I bet I have more money than you do.
And if not,
I have to actually earn it.

Phrase seven.
To everyone who thinks I am some genius.
I'm really not...
I fear for my future every day.
My grades aren't that hot,
But they're not awful.
I just don't go flaunting them in everyone's faces.

Phrase six.
To all of my friends who think it's their job to compare,
How awful their lives are to mine.
I tend to zone out when you start *******.
I know, I am being a hypocrite,
Because I probably do that same thing.
But I kind of have a short attention span,
And very little tolerance for *******.

Phrase five.
Aren't you thrilled that you are half way there?
To my sister, who has to slightly outdo me in everything,
I truthfully do not know if you realize that you do this.
I love you to death, but could you try to tone it down
Just a little bit?

Phrase four.
To my parents, who I know love me endlessly.
But to whom I often feel like a failure.
I know your other daughter is perfect,
But I am not her.
I am me,
And yes I have a little extra meat on my bones.
But frankly,
I'm not really ashamed of that.

Phrase three.
To my ex-boyfriend,
Who I still chat with time and again.
I do still love you.
But our relationship was toxic,
And either though neither one of us wanted to end it,
It isn't like we would have gotten married.

Phrase two.
To all my current friends,
You guys are beautiful.
And although sometimes I do not feel like I have
Enough of you,
I have just the right ones.
Thank you for making life to this point,
A little bit more bearable for me.

Phrase one.
To everyone who has judged me, called me a ****, doubted me
And who thinks I am a lost cause,
Go **** yourselves.

It is exactly that: MY body.  That means that I get to decide what it is and what it is not.

Don't call me fat, skinny, ugly, or hot.  My body has not failed me.  It has provided for me when outside sources did not.  My legs are strong and hold me up.  I can skip, walk, jump.  My arms allow me to really do.  I can write, hit, hug.  My curves make me a woman.  I don't even have to tell you what I can do with those.  My stomach holds many of my vitals in.  I would not be alive if not for my midsection.  And so I thank my body.

Don't judge my body.

You have not been through what I put this ***** through every day.  It is rigorous.

I used to cut myself.  My skin was split.  It had to open and come back together and reconnect more times that I can count.  It barely left scars.  My skin is strong.  I used to make myself throw up.  My digestive tract was being littered with corrosive acid on a daily basis.  My stomach was devoid of real food.  Do you know what that does?  And yet they still work perfectly for me.  Every time I've smoked, my lungs have been polluted.  And yet, all things considered, they still work extremely well for the damage they've been subject to.  For that, I thank my body.

Don't judge my body.

You don't know how long it has taken me to love this thing.  You don't know my history with self-esteem.

I used to hate my body.  I thought I was fat, that my ******* were too big, and that I was flat-out undesirable.  I would punish myself by spending hours at the gym to the point that I would fall down or throw up.  I would cut deep.  Guys didn't want to touch me, and I thought it had something to do with me.  I kind of changed for the wrong reasons.  Now all guys want from me is physical intimacy, and yet no guy wants a "real" relationship with me.  I am not concerned.  I used to be.  I used to think, once again, that there was something wrong with me.  Now I know that it is not me who has the problem.  And I am not single because I can't be with anybody.  I am single by choice.  But they way boys treat *** can lead a young and vulnerable girl to question herself.  It has taken me a long time to accept and love my curves and my body as a whole.  And now I know that once you love who you are, no person can take that away from you.

But still, don't judge my body.

I am not crazy,
But the voices of the past, present and future
Crowd my brain with their opinions.
It's like a party up there,
And I am quite okay with that.

Burning buildings,
Whispered tones.
They want to keep me in the dark.
Or tell me some neon white lies.

And yet there is this screaming in my head.
It says, You know something they do not.
Naturally, my response, sarcastically, sounds something like,
"And what would that be, my love?"

You've been to Hell and back,
We both know that well enough.
But you gained something on every voyage.
With every adventure,
You came back with renewed life.

I scoff, quite noticeably.
What's that got to do with me?
I tuck things away,
I do not carry them with me.
Not all the time, anyway.

It yells, bellows, continuously.
You are learning who you are.
You are a survivor, a hero, something beautiful.
They have not hindered you yet, and will not.
Shout it at the top of your lungs.

So I do.
And the screaming in my head is replaced by a new voice:
Mine.

Look at her.
The child you carried for nine months in your womb,
You do not know her at all.

You cannot bare the thought of her growing up.
She is dating boys,
And boys have hurt her.
They have taken advantage of this beautiful daughter of yours,
In every way possible.

She refuses to see herself as special.
The world has told her differently,
But she has something,
A gift, that they cannot steal from her.
One thing they cannot take away.

A glimmer in her eye,
A bounce in her step,
Even though she often wishes that she could cease to be,
Or that she could vanish,
She has the hope of a village.
And she carries it with her.

You will look at her and think,
"What a shame."
Much of the world has already written her off,
Calling her a lost cause.

She has fallen,
She has had problems,
But they are not her.

She has gone days without human contact,
She has lost friends for reasons out of her control,
And some of which were in her control.
She has lived a story
A series of chapters that other people have written for her,
But she is learning to become her own author.

So she is special.
She does not see it, you may not see it,
But she has hope.

Her beauty starts with her broken laugh,
Her gracious heart,
Her empathetic spirit.
It can destroy her,
But it builds her up as well.

With the curve of her smile
Her defined silhouette,
And her bright and opened mind.
She is a woman
In every sense of the word.

Everything about me is
A little too perfectly imperfect.
The wrong things make me feel right,
And I am one hell of a hot mess.
I break everything I touch,
And yet everything that's broken turns to gold.
Everything that brings me life,
Is proven to **** me at some point in time.

You hurt, and you come to me.
It is a common mistake,
But can prove to be a lethal one.

I will tell you,
Day upon day,
Night after night,
That your life will not get better.
Has not. Cannot. Should not.

You rip me from a pencil sharpener,
Or from the thing you use to shave your legs.
You hate me,
Want to throw me out,
But no longer does it matter.

I see your tears an I absorb them.

Your face is so ugly when you cry.
You are beautiful,
And you give me the power to destroy that.
I love taking everything you care about,
Away from you in a singular moment.

You are sitting on the side of the bath tub.
I am in your hand, already sharp and poignant.
You lift me, and I get excited.
This is my time, I shout.
But will you survive it?

You are playing a game of Russian Roulette, my child.
I am a dangerous vice to keep hidden.
Your parents don't know,
Seeing as you wear sweatshirts even in the dead of summer.

The unforgiving letter on your wrists falls on deaf ears.
Considering that the only people who know,
Would not dare confront you.
They think they are protecting your friendship.
At that, I laugh.

You are no longer in control of your hand.
You follow me along the outlines on your arm.
And I am your instinct.
It is only a matter of time before you cut a little too deep,
And scare the hell out of yourself.

One question remains.
Why do you turn to me?
As some source of peace or escape?

I only give you partial pleasure,
For when I hit your skin,
I go knock on the doors,
Of my friends the Endorphin family.

However, they are getting older,
And the son Dopamine can has a curfew to make.
He will only stay present for so long.

You find yourself longing for more time with them.
So the next day, you cut again,
And you hate it.
But without fail, you still find relief.

I am a vicious cycle.
Soon enough your suicide note will be written in red.
Whether you hoped to die or not.

Your life is not your own anymore.

Here's the new guide on ****** assault prevention
Ladies, sit back for a change.
This one's for men.

It's an easy two word phrase,
"Don't ****."
Didn't Mama ever tell you to be patient,
Or to keep your hands to yourself?
Or even to only take what's yours,
And only go to parties that you are invited to?

My body is not yours to take.
And you crashed that party.

These seem like elementary school basics to me.

It is a sickening word
That most ladies with a conscience,
Would never throw at anybody else.
So why would you use it on yourself?

Do not use it to describe my body.

The media uses it enough to their advantage.
When "Plus Sized" it considered a size ten.
They use it to coerce little girls,
Into buying hair and makeup products.
And they hope to make a role model
Out of some photoshopped Barbie doll.

Instead they soil a child's self image.

We put each other down
And we beat ourselves down twice as hard.
Let us think of this from a different perspective for a minute.

What constitutes in our world as ugly?
Webster's definition would be something along the lines of,
Displeasing to the senses.
But what does that really mean?
It can mean different things to different people, and it does.

It means that words like ugly, worthless,
And especially fat
Should be removed from our verbal vernacular.

If only I slept once in a while,
But instead I lay awake.
I cringe every time I hear a noise,
And this old house creeks too much for me to stand.

I clinch my lips as I stare
At a blank ceiling, where broken shadows dance
I see you and I.

I play movies in my head,
Like the day he attacked me
With every detail perfect and distinct.

I remember my love, as he pulled me in close
Held me against his chest and kissed the crown of my head.
But then things ended, almost abruptly
But I love that boy too much.

I paint pictures of friends I've lost.
But they still leap and laugh vividly.
They are not gone either.

Some ******* shines his brights in my window.
This snaps me out of things periodically.
Well what do you know?

It is now tomorrow morning.

People walk the streets,
Click, click, clack.
Around here, that is not really the case.

An affluent community,
My town is pretty silent after dark.
Unless you look in the right places.

Basements bustle,
As another party takes place.
Another one that I care not go to.
I have never really been one for large crowds,
Mostly because I prefer not to risk to recognition.

Somewhere around here,
Kids are shooting up drugs
And taking shots.
Blunts laced with that old girl
Give off a thick skunk smelling smoke.

These kids don't even know
That Molly's dancing in their lungs tonight.

So, that is all well and good.
My friend's **** was laced one time,
But it did not bother her.
So what about something with a little more of an edge?

You are still at one of those parties,
Whether it be in a garage or a basement,
Or if you're lucky, in someone's backyard.
You've had a bit to drink,
And some devilishly handsome boy comes up to you.
The question is posed:
"Would you like to come upstairs?"

You would prefer to stay down here,
But suddenly, you feel dizzy.
You do not remember what happens next,
Except that you wake up in a bed,
To that same boy getting off of you.

You feel like you are going to throw up,
And it is not just from the hangover,
Or from the drugs he slipped in your cup.

Would you press charges?
If it was not simply your word against is,
Maybe.
But you know better.

You have heard of other girls coming out about their assault,
And they have been ridiculed and publicly shamed.
Plus, they would know you were drinking.

But oh, our kids would never do something like this.
These things never happen in our community.
We are a wealthy, quiet town.
Where there are more cows than people.
So we are going to sit back with our blinders on,
Even though we are leadership.
Events like these simply do not occur.

I know at least two instances in which they have.

My parents do not quite understand.
Insert teenage angsty movie title here.
Yes, I hang out with people who are older than me,
Much older than me.
But it is because I generally do not get along with people my age.
Never have, and they know that well enough.

I guess they think that is why I have been subject to,
Drugs, alcohol, ****** activity (both wanted and unwanted)
From a young age.
NO.

First of all,
The girl who really introduced me to smoking and drinking,
Is less than a year older than me.
Sure, I have smoked at work.
But that does not mean that I would not have started.

My ex is older than me.
I wanted to have *** with him.
I do not regret
Our long days under sheets,
Becoming each others' skies.
His strong arms held me,
And I wanted to be held.

Plus, PS: all guys that are even close to my age,
Their hormones are raging at record speeds.
If not him, it would have been someone else.
That does not make me a ****,
That makes me human.

And you think that I could have prevented,
The completed, or attempted, ****** assaults
That I have survived,
Had I not hung around an older crowd?
Try again.

Time one: a family member.
Sure, he was older.
But my parents and his were in the same house when it happened.
I do not think that could have been avoided.

Time two: a church member.
He was two years older than me,
In a game of hide-and-go-seek.
He sought me out.
He tried to attack me.
Sure, he was cute.
But he ended up being nothing but dirt.
I got away from that one, however.

Those are the two that they are aware of.

Time three: a friend.
A friend who is my age.
I hesitate to call it ****** assault,
Because I, initially, was interested.
I hesitated to say no until it came to ***.
However, I did say that I was not comfortable doing things with him.

He did not listen.

He lied, said we would be together.
He teased, calling me a *****, accusing me of leading him on,
Saying he could not help himself.
He manipulated, saying that he would not treat me like my ex did,
Saying that he would not do anything to make me uncomfortable.

I could have avoided this by never even mentioning the idea of us.
But I could not have avoided it by hanging out with younger friends.
He is my age.

Some nights, I want to tear my skin off.
I have tried to wash every trace of guys like them out of my body.
I have dyed my hair,
Changed my style,
Have wanted to lose weight in the worst way.
All because you make me feel *****.

So no, Mom and Pop,
Hanging out with an older group does not cloud my vision.
In fact, it has proved itself to be a safe place for me.

To be honest,
I cannot say I miss your crocodile smile
Or the way your breath creeped down my neck
And gave me goosebumps.
I could not decide if they were out of excitement
Or out of pure fear.

You took a walk with me,
Said all we'd do was talk.
Or maybe kiss.
You lied.

We ended up in a staircase.
"I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable"
You said with a flicker in your eye.
Yet part of me knew you were being deceptive.

That doesn't matter.

I told you from the start that I did not want to sleep with you,
And yet you tried to pry it out of me.
I still would not let you go that far,
But you had me preform other unmentionable acts with you.
I could not escape if I wanted to.
The texts, the grabbing, the coercing, the mean spirited teasing.
It was Hell from the first hello.

Two friends of mine had died the week before,
I should have known when you became so concerned with my well-being,
That something was terribly wrong.
You never held stock in me before.

We have not spoken since,
Yet, you have the nerve to text me
You tell me you're sorry
That you were a ****.
I say, you were a **** and a half.

I know this was another scheme to get your way with me,
And frankly,
I don't miss our "friendship" anyways.
Not even a little bit.

No one knows what really happened.
They called me a ****, a *****, a *****.
All they know is that we did stuff,
And I told you off
When you would not stop bothering me about *******.
Then you went after my emotionally unstable friend,
And she was not so lucky and strong as to tell you
"No."

We both lost friends that day.

I cry in the shower,
Or the rain.
Because it feels like someone else is crying, too.

Tears fall on me,
Encompass my skin,
Caress my body
Touch my calloused face.

It is sick how it almost brings me peace,
That someone else is breaking simultaneously to me.

Would you **** me in my sleep
If I asked you really nicely
And batted my eyelashes for you?
You beat me down and target my emotions,
You are wearing me down to the core.
Why not just put me out of my misery?

I wouldn't tell a soul.

To be completely honest,
You do not know what I am capable of.
You treat me to same way that
So many men I know
Treat their wives,
Including my father.

They order them around like slaves,
They blame them for things that are out of their control.
Yet they expect them to be superwoman
In the office, in the home, and in the bedroom.

The men in my life have been overly critical thus far.
Call me fat one more time
Is all I have to say.
I am not someone you want to mess with anymore.

This is not some "I am woman" rant.
I just want to tell these boys
That if they want to become men,
Keep it in your pants until the women in your life
Say yes.
Or until they say it meaningfully.

If you think that commenting on a lady's body,
Is going to make her fall in love with you,
Or want to ***** you,
You are sorrily mistaken.

It's actually just plain creepy.

Society speaks.
Oh, so loudly and annoyingly,
Their words enter my ears.

A man who likes to sleep around is a hero.
He's so manly and tough,
I mean obviously
Because it takes such skill to procreate,
Which is designed by instinct.

A woman who sleeps around?
Oh, she's a ****.
Instinct does not affect her the same way,
Because she is supposed to be a lady.
She is not supposed to have desires,
She is supposed to be classy.

Well, if that's what classiness is,
I want no part in its double standards.

Does anyone even know that she is standing next to them?
Do they give a **** that she is a human being?
She has needs, wants, and she should be allowed to express them.
But she cannot, out of fear that she will be judged.

He thinks he can do whatever he wants.
He makes himself known, and does not take no for an answer.
Society condones this.
"Boys will be boys" they say.
And he is a boy if I've ever seen one.

This is the difference between men and women.

I feel gross every time you enter the room.
I wish you weren't around so much.
You convinced me things would be okay,
And I was a big girl,
I knew what I was getting into.
Or so I thought.

You walk near me,
Have the gaul to touch my arm or say hello,
And I find my self overcome with nausiousness.
And we didn't even sleep together,
Because I wouldn't let you go that far.

What can I even call it?
It wasn't ****,
Because there was no *** involved.
And I did not say "no",
But I was not in a clear state of mind.

You knew that.
And you took advantage.

You lied.
You manipulated.
You stole.
And according to them,
This is all my fault.

I'm the one who has to pay now,
And I shower up to four times a day
If I see your face.
You make me sicker than sick.

Thank for nothing, scumbag.

Angel number one, the single mother.
A minority is she where I live
But where I love, she is abundant.

She loves her children with such a great force
But cannot always be around.
She works three jobs for dirt cheap
Just to support her babies.
Whether she wanted them or not,
Daddy walked out and won't pay child support.

Now she must play both mom and dad.
She has every reason to give up,
But she does not and will not.
And yet so many parents are walking away,
Because their kids are "too much to handle."
And they live affluently.

Angel number two, the pregnant teen.
I know, you are rolling your eyes right now
And of course, sometimes it is her fault
But many times it is not.
Either way, she is still a child.

Daddy hit her, or he left
Or Mama's boyfriend touched her
And all she wants is to feel love
From someone with strong hands.
Now at those same hands,
She begs for mercy.

The first time he punched her,
She smiled timidly.
"It's alright" she says.
But even she cannot believe it,
Or come out of the ghost-like state that has come over her.
They've dug a grave for her self-esteem.

Now she is with child
And he is with the state.
She is relieved, and yet unsettled.
She will not abandon her love for him.

She has no real options.

With these two women, and so many more like them
How can we sit back and complain?
Our cushy lives in our three story homes,
Seem like their heaven.
I have even heard a child of nine, when he came to our community, say
"It's like Disney World!"

We must be their voices.
We must be their light.
If we do not,
Who else will do it for them?

They will never ask for it.
They will not complain.
So we must bring a light to make heaven
Out of this city of forgotten angels.

Poke, *****, stab
It might as well be a knife,
Cutting through your flesh on every fingertip.
Yet you find it on something so beautiful.
The only way you can hold a rose
Is by getting through the thorns.

I think I'll take my chances.

The only time I have ever set foot in a Catholic church
Was for a funeral.
I think I will avoid them for the rest of my life.

I got an emergency call a week and a day before.
"Would you like to babysit with me?"
It was from our family friend.
The pastor's child, a rowdy toddler,
Was in our care for the next several hours.

Our pastor had to go to the hospital.
I learned from our friend that a church member was not doing well.
She had been holding on for so long
And leukemia began to take its inevitable toll
On her physical state of being.

This was the morning of the day
That my friend's mother
Who I had known since infancy
Who was beautiful in every sense of the word
Was taken prematurely from this world.

This was September 14th, 2013.

Flash forward two days.
I was already a mess,
Already deteriorated
Mentally and physically.
I see statuses on social network sites
Things like, "Rest in peace, buddy."
And "It was so great to work with you."
But all without a name or a face.

I knew something was wrong.

A friend of mine had not returned from his break the day before,
That was all I knew.
And yet for some reason my gut seemed to scream,
"Suicide."
Even though it was the last person who I thought would ever do it.

Why was the word resounding in my brain?

It got louder with every step I took towards my phone.
Louder with every click of the keys as I texted a friend and asked,
"Was it him?"
And she responded a solemn,
"Yes."
And then I asked, even though I suspected,
"How?"
And she confirmed my suspicions.

Suddenly, hearing it made all the difference.
Suddenly, I could not see through tear-clouded eyes.
Suddenly, my face was hot and I was dizzy.
Suddenly, I could not breathe,
As it felt like a fist was being shoved down my throat.
I fell to my knees and screamed.

This was September 18th, 2013.

I was not allowed to attend this church member's funeral,
For my parents thought it would be too much for me.
The wake was the day I found out about my coworker
And the funeral, the day after.
While I understand their motives,
I still lack a little bit of closure.

I came into school the following Monday,
All dressed up and decked out.
I have always wondered about the irony of funerals.
I have accepted that dressing up
Is to honor his life.
But if so, why in all black?
With his whimsical personality,
I doubt it's the attire he would have chosen.

I will never understand how one can eat on this occasion.
I ate half a cookie, just to be social,
And felt as though I would *****.
My stomach was in knots upon knots.

Well, I could go on and on
About how these events have affected my daily life since.
But I'll spare you the gory details.

I hope you two are resting easy up there,
And I hope you have gotten a chance to meet upon admission.

You would like each other.

You think I want to be this way?
Lonely, afraid and depressed.
The muted light cannot shine through the window anymore.
You think I blocked it out.

So I'm asking for it then?
According to you, I'm petty and whiney
Like a lost dog or a child.

And speaking of children,
It was my fault that he touched me then too.
Seven years old, but yet, I should have known better.
As if by some gift of God, I'd know to resist.

These are the elixirs society has force fed me.

Although I never thought I would use that word to describe you.
You played me like a pawn,
And I willingly went along,
All the while hoping you would get better.

You say that you do everything for others,
But you only think about yourself.
Well aren't you just the martyr now?
I let you trample all over my back,
I hope I can wash your footprints off,
Before they stain me red.

I drank from your gauntlet
The malignancies infect me now
It could have been lethal
But I will not let it invade my blood stream.

If I could string together a few words to describe a hypocrite,
They would choke you out.
If I told you all of them, I would run out of breath.
So for now, I'll leave you with two:

It goes something like
"*******."