I'm falling like the rain
Spinning and colliding with everything.
It's all so lovely,
But it's the pungent smell of lust
That takes my breath away.

You wore a magnificent disguise
You were so beautiful
That I thought you would break the curse
Of my bruised and ****** heart
With every vein intact.

When we kissed,
It was electric
But I never asked you to go farther.
I didn't want to do the things
That you wanted to do
But "no" and "not here"
Were some letters strung together
That you could not identify.

After your strong will honed in on me
Threatened me
Violated me and then threw me away
I did not know what to make of it.

Shades of grey, that's what it was.
It was not black and white as I expected
Any type of ****** manipulation to be.

I just assumed that
If that happened to me
I would know it
Press charges
And tell someone.
Anyone.

Victim blaming would not affect me.
After all, I am a feminist, right?
But much to my surprise,
It took a brutal toll on my existence.

So many dangerous, pernicious things
Can sparkle beautifully.
They catch your eye
As if to trick you
And make you second guess yourself.
That's how they **** you in.

You always think in hypotheticals
That it will look clear as day.
Until it happens to you.

Your death
Is transforming my life.
My health is down the drain
My body is in pain
And my mind is in a far worse state
I'm depressed and a wreck
I don't sleep or eat
At least not the way I used to.
These bloodshot eyes are tired of leaking
My chest wishes to rest
And the only time I'm not shaking
Is when my lips
Are curled around a cigarette
And smoke abundant in my lungs.
Some may call it a mental breakdown
I call it grieving.

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.

Dear customers,
I had no idea my name was
Dear,  honey,  baby
Or hey, you
Thank you for informing and dehumanizing me
By giving me these new titles which you deem appropriate
Just because I am a woman
Or a person who is serving the likes of you.

Dear customers,
Holiday season is supposed to be joyous
Just because you feel you can indulge
Doesn't mean you need to order everything on the menu
I mean hey, I get it
Who am I to judge your life choices?
After all, I work in fast food
So that must mean I am lazy and incompetent
Right?

Dear customers,
Specifically, teenage boys.
I don't quite know who you're trying to impress
But none of us find it funny when you
Scream into the drive thru speaker.
Or make a mess of our lobby
Or order $40 worth your weight in beef
And deep-fried delicacies
Fifteen minutes before closing time.

Dear customers,
The next time you throw money at me
Your hand comes with it.
I am not a piggy bank with a slit in my side
Nor am I a fountain for you to toss your spare change into.
You can take the extra half a second to place your fee into my hand
Thank you.

Dear customers,
Here's the section where I discuss the
****** old men who hit on me.
Some classic charmer's that sent me head over heals are
"Your voice is so ****, you should be a ******* operator"
-Anonymous *******, about 45
And
"Why don't you lean over the counter and let me spank you"
-Secret **** bag, closer to 50
That is just scratching the surface
But you get the idea.

Dear customers,
The answer to
"How are you today?"
Is not
"I'll take a number three"
With a scowl on your face.
However, it is also not
"Oh well my sister's dog died"
"And my chiropractor's daughter's son has a doctor's appointment today"
"Oh, and did you see the medal my grandson won?"
Why can no one ever answer a simple
"Lovely, thanks, and you?"

Dear customers,
Sorry to burst your egotistical bubbles
But you are not always right.

Dear customers,
Lastly,
If I clearly have one foot out the door
It does not mean ask me for something.
I am no longer indebted to you.
I'm out.
Goodbye.

One.
When you remember what happened to you as a child,
Ignore it.
It probably doesn't mean much anyway
After all,
You're probably just using it as an excuse to get away with ******
You're probably just making it up for attention.

Two.
When a boy fondles you in your church boiler room,
Do not tell anyone.
Since you froze up
Did not say no
The best case scenario
Is that they will make you "talk it out"
And tell you it is your Christian duty to forgive him
The worst case scenario
Is that your formerly mutual friends will brand a scarlet letter to your chest
And you make it your personal mission to live up to that label.

Three.
If you have *** before marriage,
Do not let anyone find out.
If you have *** with multiple people before marriage,
Hide it under lock and key.
If you have casual *** with multiple people before marriage,
You can forget about going to heaven.

Four.
When you have become the perfect liar and *****,
Do not get assaulted.
You know what I said about no one believing you?
Increase that times one hundred thousand.
The only difference is this time
Not even the ones you love the most
Will take you seriously.
You'll get your morning dosage
Of ****-shaming
And "what were you wearing?"
The nightly pill shoved down your throat
"He was in a bad place."

Five.
When he texts you four months later
Saying he hasn't tried to **** himself in quite a while
When you read the word "sorry" in a public bathroom
Say you're okay.
Do not say you are bulimic
And that where his hands went that night
Or the text messages that made you fear for your safety
Had anything to do with your own perfectly calculated mental breakdown.

Six.
When your church talks about purity,
Nod like the rest of the robots.
Smile, because you are their concrete example
Of who not to become.
Why do they care more about the *** you have
Than the *** that was forced upon you?
They say trauma has a stronger link to addiction
Than obesity does to diabetes
Do they ever stop to wonder
If just maybe, I am addicted to everything I hate?
They will tell me I have nothing new to add to the discussion
So they can silence me
But I have my story
A story that is mine and I control
The ending.

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.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
For weeks,
Being broken meant,
Succumbing to my addiction.
So I suppose being whole means
Learning to fight on.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
Every time I see your face
I am sent into a panic
But I no longer let that fear
Overwhelm me
To the point where I destroy the very essence
Of who I am.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
I have yet to fall back into the comfortable seat
That old habits reserve for me.
I refuse to purge again
But my thoughts make it so tempting
Self-induced vomiting was never popular
But it did give me some twisted sense of control.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
I am smiling like an idiot  
Even when I should be sobbing.
Does that make me seem strong
Or does it make me insane?
Maybe they are one and the same.

I'm not sad anymore
But I'm still struggling.
Maybe that's even better
Than simply being okay
Because pain makes better human beings
And I would rather know that I have the ability
To hold on through the agony
Than to be reduced to feeling
Nothing at all.

Childhood best friend overdoses.
Current best friend's dad dies by cancer's ***** hand.
Makes a new best friend
Gets a boyfriend
No, scratch that
Gets a guy who wants to be her boyfriend
Isn't that what you've always wanted?
Goes on her first date
Quits smoking
Starts smoking
In the pretentious town where popular kids are too good to smoke cigarettes.
Tells the wannabe boyfriend who is nine years older than her
Recovering drug addict
Unstable
She doesn't do clingy
When she begins to cling to a boy
Two years younger than she is.
Lets the first boy text her constantly
Doesn't stop
Wants to tell him to stop
Won't stop.
Hangs out with bums and cheats
Or, recovering.
Reconnects with a grade school friend
Watches her relapse two weeks after returning from rehab
It was only alcohol.
****** was her drug of choice
Alcohol reigned second in command.
***** her ex
As her grandpa lays dying
The only words she hears from him are
"I love you."
Funny how her ex says the same thing
They sling "I love you" across their lips
Swinging them left and right
Like popcorn across a Christmas tree
Empty sockets of air
Then ****
Gone.
Everything is
Gone.
Can't reason with herself
To stop.
Seems to be the consistent pattern
*She can't stop.

A small needful fact
Is that 98% of women
Do not look like fashion models.
100% of American children
Are being lied to everyday
Told they are not normal
Told there is something wrong with them.
Another needful fact:
More than two million women
More than eight hundred thousand men
Are bulimic
Add, subtract, multiply, divide
Any way you try to solve the problem
It still exists like a parasite.
If any girl, boy, child, man, woman
Wants to escape these images
Running with cupped ears in the other direction
Hoping to save themselves
It follows them, rank with the smell of sewage
It is the ghost in the closet
Television set
Store aisle
Telling them they are not good enough
They cannot escape the lies so dense
Even their inner most breath
Is hot with deception
And so, even the most basic function of breathing
Becomes challenging.
Until we replace poison with water
Brokenness with holiness
Lies with truthfulness
These seemingly sorrowful statistics
Will never quite add up.

Unwarranted guilt crushes you
Until you can't feel anymore.
First it's intense pain
Then it's utter numbness
No one tells you that after it shocks
It leaves you empty
To chase some sort of hope you've lost along the way
No one tells you guilt is not something you feel
It's something you are
Converting your mind to darkness
Before you know where you exist
Whether in a lover's arms
Or between your abuser's legs
No one tells you that even though it wasn't your fault
You will believe it was
You will hate yourself for thinking that way
Because it hinders you from healing
No one tells you that even though you live in a bubble
Frozen and devoid of emotion
Breathing is still hard
Not to feel the air moving and passing through your lungs
But to consciously have to keep it functioning
To keep going.
No one tells you physical symptoms occur
And it will take you days to notice the problem
Inability to move from your slumber
Check
Nausea every time you leave the house
Check
Recurrent headaches and migraines
Check
And yet
Nothing hurts anymore
No one tells you the reason you can't feel a thing
Is because you're not living
Is because you're barely surviving
Is because you're already dead.

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.

This is a story
About pain and sadness
But there is also a hint of irony.
It depicts my first and last time
Inside that presumptuous building on the hill.

I had seen it many times
Played on its playground as a child
Gone to its annual carnival as an adolescent
Its daunting shadow had watched me
With eyes of judgment
Many times before.

Finally entering through the doors
Was some kind of out-of-body experience
Mostly because of what I was there for.
The funeral of a friend was the dreary occasion.

How I miss him so
And it is still an offbeat feeling
When I think about him now.
I feel a twinge in my chest cavity
Every time I replay a memory of him.
It literally hurts my heart.

Anyway, I walk into the church
Decked out in black
My makeup has been replaced by the stains of tears.
I never felt uninvited,
As I imagined I might.
But I didn't quite know what to do.
I look ardently for a friend to sit next to
Or even an acquaintance.
No such luck.
I had to teach myself Catholic rituals
I was once again, alone.

Looking around as I entered, I saw people
Dipping their fingers in some kind of Holy water
And crossing themselves.
They seemed to be whispering something
But I couldn't make it out.
I did make a travesty of that practice
As I attempted to imitate them
Muttering some chicken scratch to look like I knew what I was doing.
I, apparently, got too much on my fingers
And some of it dribbled onto my freshly ironed shirt.
Awesome start to the day.

I sat next to two amiable-looking people
And kind of kept to myself.
The service was very sweet and honored him and his family
Wonderfully.
However, when we had to drop to our knees for prayer
I was a little bit late the first time
And the little padded areas
That you kneel on
Would not unlock themselves from the pew the second.
Great.

The worst part may have been
That during the ceremony
I could not cry.
I could not understand it.
I had sobbed for the days prior
So why, now when it's appropriate,
Can I not shed a single tear?

I feel insensitive
I also feel the sanctimonious glares of those surrounding me.
Eventually, droplets started bleeding from my eyes like crazy.
Am I crazy?

Finding a friend to drive me back to school
Proved to be easy
He held me as I bawled
While everyone else had stopped
Stone faced.
Why am I the only one
Who's emotions come and go
At the very wrong times?

Such a wreck
Such a paradox
Such a tale of heartache
For my first time in a Catholic steeple.

I see things inside my head
They come and go like snakes
So easily slithering through the dark and dripping places
Making their homes in broken ruins
Taking my heart and twisting it
Making my mind believe things that are not there.
People call me crazy
Try harder they say
Things will get better with time they say
They do not understand that
My mental illness does not have an on and off switch
A magic button I can press to turn me sane
As if I can pick and choose when my hallucinations color my mind
As if I can pick and choose when panic attacks destroy my sanction
As if I can pick and choose when depression rolls like thunder through my thoughts
My mental illness never came with an owner's manual
I do not have explicit instructions teaching my how to breathe
During episodes of PTSD
I do not have a special tool kit
That can cure anxiety.
I do not have a way to ward off these things that are imagined
But they seem more substantial than most of my reality
They are the only constant I've ever had in my life.
However, my mental illness is also not a whip
That I wear around my neck
Using it as an excuse to victimize people
Using it as an excuse to get preferential treatment
Using it as an excuse for you to walk on eggshells around me
I use it as a reason, not an excuse
For my thoughts, my behavior and some of my actions
But I refuse to let it take me captive
To yield to its thorns in my wrist
Or the acid it forces down my throat.
I am not afraid
And I will use it as my superpower
Rather than my kryptonite.

He tells me that this is a normal reaction
So why do I feel so slimy?
I hate getting upset, I just do
Plus he doesn't know everything

I suppose I could tell him
How all I do is sleep and cry when I'm at home
I suppose I could show him
My writing, my poetry
The areas of my mind in which bulimia and self harm make themselves comfortable
In my thoughts

Then, maybe he would understand
How broken and crazy I really am
But then again
I guess crazy is relative.

He acts like I'm a sweet kid
He treats me like I mean something
Like I have potential
I wish I could get that thought through my thick skull.

All I want is to tell all these people
Who, for whatever reason, believe in me
That I do not believe in myself.
I wish I could show them
The scars on various parts of my body
And the ones that etched themselves into my mind.

They do not know that I am insane
For if they did
Would they still care about my well being
As much as they act like they do now?

Sadly, I think not.

It is so shameful how we spend life
Asleep at the wheel
Making less than a conscious attempt
To break free from our situation.

The day you left this Earth
Your exceptional and passionate life was taken
I heard your heart hit the floor
And I look up to the sky
Expecting to see you soaring.

You lived so loudly
And left me star struck.
So what is it supposed to feel like
When you are gone?
Even now, I will pass something
Do a certain activity
Hear a certain song, a phrase
And think about you.

Has it been five months already?
That's almost half a year
And for some reason, that kills me.
Maybe I've been stuck in September
Or somewhat comatose in my own skin.
The shell I've been dying to shed for just about forever.

Have you heard my screams?
The day I got the call
The day I passed out
The endless days of panic attacks
Stuck between those foreboding cycles
Of endless days and sleepless nights.

I do not expect you to be watching over me.
You should be guarding
Your siblings
Your girlfriend
Your parents.
I hope you brought the party to heaven
And God is lucky to have you as his guest.

Sometimes, I still hear your laugh
See your smile
And I am ever so grateful that
I was lucky enough to know you
And I will keep your memory alive
By really living
And not just being on standby.

You're like a grease stain
A soot smudge
A skid mark
On a newly waxed floor
A clean shirt
A recently washed car.

You turn
Everything you touch to dirt.
It's a blessing for you
As you love watching decimation
But it curses everything in your world
Destruction is your favorite passion.

I wish
I could tell her what you've done
How none of it is fair
How, although you desired me
You never cared
About what I wanted and needed from you.

I cannot wait
Until she see how you are
When things don't go your way.
If she still loves you then
You two deserve each other.

You may think
It was no big deal
Considering you make excuses for yourself
And you'll deny it
Until the day God takes you home
Or sends you to where you belong.

However,
It marked my life
With a big bold X
It was my scarlet letter
And yet
I could not even control
What you did to me.

I lost friends
I lost trust
I lost control
I lost everything
All because
You couldn't stand hearing the word
"No."

So, darling
It was a huge deal
As you left a grease stain.
Now it seems as though it is impossible
To wash me clean.

Recovery is like a closed wound
That keeps reopening.
Sometimes it doesn't hurt
Sometimes it stops aching
Sometimes it blends into the skin in such a way
That you forget it's there.

Other days
It itches and stings
And you keep picking
Until you rip the scab off completely
The blood covers you
You become trapped by this illness
You are smothered.

Eating disorders are open wounds
That heal over time
But the mark leaves a scar
That is there forever.

So I cannot say I was bulimic
And frankly, I wasn't a very good one
But I am a bulimic
At peace one day
In raging battle zones the next.

The important part
Is that the shot never fires
The enemy never wins
The wound never stays
Open.

I miss our kisses in the stairwell
The way you played with my hair
The way you would smile
Maybe sinisterly
When I would give you an off-handed compliment.

I miss when you taught me how to drive for the first time
Illegally, of course
Did we ever do anything ethical?
I was only fourteen
But I thought I was hot ****
I thought I was tough enough for you.

I miss the first time we..."you know"
As you would say with a wink
You'd send me texts about where to meet you
It felt so secret, so sensual
And it was, for a while.

A quickie in the church boiler room
Our first time in the parking lot
It was the only place we could be alone
Well, unless you count the Big Guy upstairs
I guess we're both eternally ****** to Hell.
And somehow, I'm okay with that.

It was so wrong,
But we were so right
Too bad we lived like a train wreck.

We were built up by adrenaline
We had every reason to believe in ourselves
So young, so in love
Isn't that what they all say?

It's all cliche to me, anyways.

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.

When the girls at my Christian college find out I am pansexual
They ask me
What Biblical evidence I have to back up the righteousness
Of same-*** relationships
Like it is a fact out of a textbook
That my love for people is wrong
Same old hymn, sing it again
You're sick of getting rejected
Same old hymn, sing it again
I love you but I don't support your lifestyle
Same old hymn, sing it again
Don't date her, she'll cheat on you anyway
We keep harmonizing to the chorus:
Love the sinner, hate the sin
Love the sinner, hate the sin
Hate who you are, love who you should be
When they tell me pansexual people only exist because it is trendy
That my love for a woman is a fallacy
I love who I love when it goes out of style
Why are we only focused on LGBTQ
When there is love that protrudes beyond those limiting letters?
Never have I seen one pan person on a panel
Speaking about their story
Speaking about their pain
As if they are the only version of this record
Somewhere, another queer person loses a job
Holds a silver bullet to the temple
Scratch that
Society, our construct of queer, the Church
Places the weapon at the scene of the crime
This is no longer a suicide
As we can suspect fowl play.
Every time this happens
My knees become knobs on a radio
My brain, a button
My body switches channels
Begging, pleading, screaming to sing
A different melody.

Seventeen.
I start doing homework at coffee shops and Applebee's
I cannot tolerate my father's *******
But for the first time in my life
I am able to revive myself from the frustration he fills me with.
Each time his biting comments pierce my skin I say:
"College eight months"
"College seven months"
"College six months..."
By telling myself that coming home has become optional
I am able to smile and gently whisper
"Yes, Dad."

Sixteen.
One of the two times I can remember compassion from my father.
A heartbroken me watched my grandpa deteriorate
Just ten days after I had entered recovery
From a bad bout of bulimia relapse.
Dad actually hugged me
Even cried with me
When grandfather died.
But for the other 360 days of the year that did not include that week
Even when my friend committed suicide
My father did not meet me with kindness.

Sixteen.
My battle with bulimia
Was mine to wage alone.
When my parents got the call
They were more worried about my wastefulness
Food isn't cheap, you know.
Daddy continued to bash my weight
And I continued to spiral downward
Until I decided I was worth more.

Sixteen.
Had I told you a boy had taken advantage of me
I would have just been a **** once again.
After all, I led him on
After all, my shirt was fairly tight
After all, my friends told me it was my fault.
I know you would have considered me blameworthy
I sure thought I was.

Fifteen.
One handful of pills
And a crimson message on my arm
Lands me in intensive therapy.
I sit there
Telling myself I am not like the other suicidal kids around here
I'm not ****** up
I just ****** up.
Sick of listening to people tell me why I did it
The most frequent was my experiences with molestation
Just because some pervert touched me
Doesn't mean I'd go off the deep end.

Fifteen.
You didn't care
About my drinking, my cutting, my anything
Until you heard my plans to end it all.
You called me a ****
When you found out I had slept with my ex.
You permeated **** culture by telling me not to discuss my abuse
With anyone but my counselor.
You didn't mean to,
But you did.

Fourteen.
The other time I remember compassion.
You heard that I had been horribly violated
By your cousin.
It curdled your blood
As well it should
And you told me we'd get through it.
Fortunately,
It was never yours to get through.
You tried your best to help me
But to no avail.

Fourteen.
Lost my virginity
With a strong chance of unwanted pregnancy
That was thankfully inaccurate.
Started drinking
Taught myself how to throw up
Tarnished your perfect image
Of Daddy's little girl.

Thirteen.
Middle school ends
But my battle with eating disorders
And my dysfunctional relationship with food
Gains speed.
My then boyfriend described my dietary patterns to you
Before he was scared to death of your rage for him.
Where are you Dad?

Twelve.

Eleven.
I cut myself for the first time
And obsessive thoughts about food began to litter my mind
Depression and anxiety
First showed their ugly faces this year.

Ten.

Nine.
You told me I was fat again
So I began storing things in my room
Whole bags of junk food
I would have miniature thanksgiving feasts
Because eating in front of you was horrifying.

Nine.
Got a phone call from my fourth grade teacher
Who was in earshot of me telling my friends I was fat
My mom cried that day
Although she has a lot to do with my self-image.
But still
Don't let her pick up your mess.

Eight.
Humiliated me in Wendy's
For not ordering a kid's item.
Children are like elephants
We really don't forget.

Seven.
He touched me
And I didn't know what to make of it.
I thought this was truly just a game
You could not have protected me, Dad
He is the one at fault
No one else is.

Six.

Five.
You told me for the first time
That eating a bagel would make me fatter.
The first time I remember being skinned with comments
About my weight.

Four.

Three.
My perfect sister was born
As she entered the world
I was suddenly no longer good
No longer skinny
No longer pretty.
She would become acceptable by society's standards
And I never would.

Two.

One.

Zero.
Do you ever wonder what your parents imagined for you
When your mother was pregnant?
I do
And I don't think they imagined
A counter culture, feminist
Resident fat girl.
I was defined before I was
And I redefined my expectations.

I see my reflection in your teeth
Between cracked lips
My body reflects off of the most violent part of you
That you use everyday.
I try to pry myself from your skin
Your stench saturates my sanity
I cannot look at myself the same way
I cannot look at you at all.

You continue, to chew & chew
And I continue, to wash & wash

Violently trying to cleanse myself of you.

Breaking down is not so hard to do
As I spiral into some sort of psychosis
Disillusion is the ultimate form of madness
Because you just keep spinning
Until you hit the ground
Unaware of the fact
you are even broken.

I wear your conquests like a chain around my neck
i.
The first time you violated my body
ii.
The time I told, embarrassed of myself, and for what?
iii.
The time I thought I had let go, but still could not stop tearing my up mind
iv.
The times I lost sleep because I feared you would find me

I hate you
I don't.
I hate you
I make excuses for you
I hate you
I hate me.

You taught me things I must consciously forget to remember
You remind me of things I must consciously remember to forget
As you chew, rip, tear at my skin
And my beating heart
I hope your teeth crack with every bite.

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.

Who am I?
Trapped in this lifeless figurine
No getaway, no exit
I simply drag myself through these daily activities
But why?
Is it in order to
Impress everyone else?
To show them that I can do it
To abandon some long established inferiority complex?
Maybe, maybe.
And yet, and I am still bound
By life's broken lines and timed events.
I'm spinning a web of lies,
Thoughts like
"I'm okay"
"I can do this"
Spill from my faucet-like mouth
But really?
I'm getting tangled up in all of it.
Too bad suicide is not an option,
Self-harm is not an option,
Escape is not an option.
And therefore,
I remain caged in this labyrinth,
The deserted ruins of something resembling
A borrowed and ****** body
And my shallow and sorry soul.

Becoming friends with someone
Who has a place in your heart
Who has shattered your definition of love
With whom there is extensive history
Is never easy to do.

Part one is when you don't talk to each other
Don't even look in their direction.
You wish you could pretend that they don't exist.
The only things you exchange
Are venomous glares and glances.

Part two is in this awkward limbo.
It's been a few months, you miss him or her.
Do you talk?
Do you text?
It's all left floating in the Great Unknown.

Part three is when you fall from that blank space.
Do you simply make small talk?
Should you hang out?
Is there a chance of getting back together
Or simply hooking up?
Your brain and your heart are at war
And there will be blood.

Part four, possibly the most crucial step.
Deciding when you should cross into the friend circle
And deciding how to do so.
You talk about what went wrong
Or you simply let it go.

But can you ever really be friends?
Buds, pals, drinking buddies
Talk about current heartbreaks
Family problems
Crushes

Or do you remain quirky, undetermined ghosts who just happen to
Cross each others paths
Exchange text messages now and then
Go out for coffee
Make out at a party
After consuming a little too much alcohol.

I think all of us who have been in this situation
Know the very clear answer to the humbly posed question.

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.

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.

Circle, circle
Evil and monotonous
Everyone around here does the same **** thing
Day after day
Sit in a cubicle
Make babies, program them to be
Your little robots
To grow up to be
Real life mean girls
Or homophobic jocks
The kids whom you could only hope to be
Or the ones you hated.
Living in a world
Where no teenager needs to work
Everyone gets what they want
Daddy can buy you a car, a house, college
The whole **** world, have it your way
You buy drugs, throw huge parties
Because you can
Your sense of entitlement sickens me to the core
So when someone different comes along
Someone who isn't on the "Barbie Diet"
Someone who doesn't wear heavy makeup, or Hollister size double zero
Someone who doesn't live in a palace
Someone who has to work if they want things
Other than necessities
How do you respond?
Shun, backstab, gossip
Wishing they would care
At least, that is what I have experienced
In the magical world of Suburbia

Sexuality is not a ***** word.
It is the essence of our being
It tantalizes our skin
Seeps out of our pores
And sets a flame to our existence.

The way we express it
(Or the way some of us do)
Is what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom.
Majority of people are able to display it
In a vivid and imaginative way
So that they can connect with another person.
And I am not simply talking about ***
Although that plays an integral role
But romanticism as well.

Love is a human experience
It spreads from person to person
Radiating from each like their own individualized ball of light
It is theirs, and only theirs
Until they decide to share it with another
So they can spread this tiny orb of sunshine
And illuminate someone else's world with it
As it has brightened the beholder's.

So why do so many people
Think it is fit to rob the ones
Who, in terms of romantic preferences,
Are in the minority
Of this beautiful luminosity
That blots out all of the hate, violence and anger in this world
Even if for only a split second?
Yes, I'm talking to you, Conservatives and bigots alike.

Who are we to tell other human beings
That they do not have the right to love
The way we do?

Dear So-Called Religious Christians
Who believe that gays, lesbians, bisexuals, pansexuals
You name it
Are abominations:
Stop playing the very God
That you claim to be following.

To the girl in the hallway of my high school
Who called me a *****.
Please, dear
Tame your venomous tongue.
If you want me to "act like a lady"
Why don't you talk like one?
By your own standards, of course.
Your words are spikes that are omitted from your spit
Can I spit them back at you?
Then again,
I guess that would only do some good
If I cared enough.
You see,
The definition of a ***** is
A derogatory term for a *******.
Please educate yourself
As I am not a *** worker
No, I do not get paid to be an object for men
As I have only even slept with one
As I have only even done anything consensual with one man
And no man has pleased me since.
Apparently I tempt them by saying
"I'd like to see you try"
Even though I meant it in the most sarcastic way possible.
And oh, do they try
Many even disguise satisfying themselves
As attempts to satisfy me.
But once the lights come back on
I'm not quite done with the last man I spent the night with
But he's already out the door.
His skin still lingers like fog in my mind
And in the corridor where we did unmentionable things.
I feel as slimy as ever
But it was stupid to sleep in our clothes anyway.
Because things went further than I wished.
I pull a blanket over my shivering body
It has been a cold autumn thus far.
And I'm sure my mom was worried sick
But she slept that illness right off.
Boys will be boys, she says
And when I try to explain what happened that night
How my memories are a little bit shifty
My credibility seems to fade as his ghost did.
Instead of questioning what happened that night
I am answering to questions like
"Well, what were you wearing?"
"Did you lead him on?"
Why, of course I did
Because everything I do in this ******* society is "leading him on"
If I blink, smile, wave, walk toward him, have confidence
I am suddenly opening up my body like a book to be examined and gawked at
Suddenly, I abandon my personhood by doing any of these things
And leave myself as a thing to have *** with
But because I know the consequences of being a woman and existing
I am still some two-dollar *******
Just for being a woman who has consensual ***
Just for being a woman who does not want you poking her bruises and revealing her scars
After all, they are not fully healed.
Just for being a woman who wears low-cut shirts and tight dresses
Even though I am not a size two.
Just for being a woman who believes that we, as women, should be able to make choices about our own bodies.
Just for being a woman.

I think I'm going crazy
From torturing myself with pictures
From reading your emails until I can no longer breathe.
For last night I ran away in my sleep
I was fast and went far and seldom looked back.

It started when I went for a walk
And turned my phone off
To escape reality.
And yet, these misconfigured beings
They chased me all the while.
My body started talking
How badly am I hallucinating?

My legs told me
"I don't want to run anymore."
My hands told me
"I don't want to fight anymore."
My brain told me
"I don't want to think anymore."
Therefore
I allowed myself to give up.

And it didn't feel so bad after all.
I was on my own
No one knew where I was
No one cared either.
I took a bus straight out of Hell
To some mysterious land.

Suddenly,
I realized I was seeing spots
Light peaked through the darkness
But I was not gone.
I was lying in the middle of a parking lot
Trying to get some sleep
And trying to avoid the fact
That maybe crazy isn't a big enough word
To describe what I have become.

I was never vindictive towards you,
Yet somehow, I wish I had been.
I saw you for seven grueling years
After the attack.
Endured every flashback, every pang of anxiety.
I would not let you get alone with me, however.
I guess in that way,
I was smart enough to get by.

Crying in my pillow
Screaming at the walls
Lashing out on others
But mostly at myself.
Yet I never once wished to harm you.
Some days I wish to want to.
But I don't.
I can't.
And I hate myself for it.

You had Asberger syndrome
And I was a child.
So who is accountable here?
I guess it is just easier to take this pain on by myself.

My parents could have sheltered me,
I suppose.
But whenever my brain creeps into that region
Of blaming them even a little bit
I feel like a *******.
They did not know, could not have known
Could they?

"*******!"
I'll belt, but it's never directed at you
Like it should be.
I say it to myself, and after my voice breaks
And I fall to my knees, sobbing
The rest goes something like
"You could have stopped it.
What the hell were you thinking?
This is your fault."

Intellectually?
I know I'm not to blame.
I was seven,
How could I have known better?

But emotionally?
All of that logic goes out the window.
I beat the crap out of myself for it.
I should have protected myself
Should have been protected
And I guess, somehow
I should have been able to control that.
I still need that control, I crave it
And I still need somebody to blame.

Little girl, stop shaking
Your wounds are not the kind that will heal in time
You have predator in your blood
And abuser in your skin
Your antibodies cannot save you
When your body wages war against itself
The ****, it will not clot the way it is supposed to
As you grow older, the features come in
Your eyes look more and more
Like your Pop Pop's
Your face looks more and more
Like your father's
Your mouth tastes more and more
Like your older cousin's
After all, you would know
What his skin tastes like
You try to scrub it off
Causing the wound to reopen
Scrape the scab away
But you, beautiful girl
You are not your bloodline, your birthright
You are not destined to be angry and cold
Your sentence is not the dungeon
Is not death
Intelligent woman
You will hold in your hand the power of ten thousand men
You will wear the teeth from your ******* relative
Like pearls around your neck
You will paint your nails with the blood of your toxic family
Your past will not mute your scream
Your childhood will not filter your radiance
You, warrior, will rise up to be queen.

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.

It comes knocking at times
When you are already down.
You're not good enough it laughs
And you never will be.

I was crying in the shower again.
It was one of my "panic attack" showers.
I needed something to calm me down,
And I hoped steam and hot water
Would stop me from vomiting.
At minimum it would keep me
From forcing my index finger down my throat.

I stepped into the rain
Tiny pellets of water caressed my skin
Ready to burst as they surfaced.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe.
The room spun and I felt my eyes well up.
Everything was wrong
And the worst part was
I had to hide my cries.

I could not wail out even if I wanted to
For everything that possessed me
Was everything that my parents remain unaware of.

If my mother so much as heard a whimper,
I would be bombarded with questions.
I did not want that.
It was not what I needed.

The desire to purge consumed my being
My body, my mind, my soul
All seemed to turn on me simultaneously.
I needed a fix.

I see a razor and I start to tremor
Cut, cut, cut
Is what I want to do
Something inside of me is bloodthirsty.

And who shows up?
None other than that annoying buzzing in my head.

"Just do it."
"They knew you wouldn't change."
"You need this, you know you do."
"You cannot go on. You cannot fight this."

I start to taste saltwater
As tears flood down my face.
I am holding on to all I have left.

I clench my wrists, shaking my head.
I had to keep repeating
No, no, no
I will not stop fighting.

Then, something spectacular
Something brilliant occurred within me.

Life is made up of choices.
In my house, I am accused of being selfish
And never taking accountability.
If only they knew
How I blame everything on myself.

I do not blame what I have been through
For the decisions I make and have made.
Those were mine,
And that voice will not let me forget that.

But another voice not enters the picture
An empowering, strong timbre
With an amiable, gentle tone.

It tells me that yes, those were choices
And many of them were mistakes.
But I am choosing to get better.
I have chosen
And will choose this.

That voice in my head
Isn't so responsive anymore.

You are
The sun-kissed skin that had an iridescent glow
That time we went to an ice cream parlor
For your birthday
The time I almost drowned in that community pool
The game we played with your Mom
An extension of her auburn-soaked locks
Although yours are blonder
But you have the same ruby red smile.
A kind spirit in a tiny body
The eyes that flared with the flames of a gentle spirit.
Days spent as we played with animals
On farms, at the pumpkin patch
We loved them so dearly when we were young.
A two and a half hour commute, yet worth it every time.
Horse riding with our sisters
As we complained about how annoying they were.
The first time we made ceramics
Yours, of course, were better than mine.
The way our parents would tell us
Of memories of ski trips and college endeavors
That made us hope to be university bound
Even though we were in grade school.

Things have changed.
Now you are motherless
As lung cancer took her life
Eight years ago in March.
Which also happened to be the last time I spoke with you.
I remember,
Dad wouldn't let me go to the funeral.
He said I was too young
I couldn't miss school
The usual.
At the time,
I didn't know if I longed to go to honor her
Or to see you.
It wouldn't be the last funeral he denied me
For various reasons.
I still miss her
But I miss you more.
We lost contact
And the questions I had for you at eight
Still resonate in my overbearing brain.

What was it like to lose her?
How did your father cope?
Did your grandparents move in
To take care of you and your young sister?
Do you remember these memories like I do?
Do you ever think about me?
Do you miss me at all?

New questions compete for their spots.
Do you have a boyfriend?
Do you plan to go to college?
Do you still love to draw?
I would assume you are still putting that angelic singing voice
To good use.
I hope I'm right.

Sometimes, I wonder.
Wonder what it would be like
If we still kept in touch.
Dad said your father
Lost contact with him after your mother's passing.
I know, this is petty
But I still miss every summer day
For the first eight years of my life that I spent with
My very first best friend.

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 was lost in the depths
Of my incoherent mind
And I swore up to You
That I was done this time.

Then I witnessed
When it seemed as though
Your life would fall apart at the seams
You made it through
Stronger than ever
And more beautiful too.

When He gave you
More than you thought you could handle
Everyone would understand if you
Fell to pieces
But you're climbing
You're a warrior
And He brought you through
Oh my Lord
The reason is You

It seems like
This change is eminent
Danger is apparent
And you're falling short
On top of it.

But you are stronger than you understand
He'll be your shield again

When He gave you
More than you thought you could handle
Everyone would understand if you
Fell to pieces
But you're climbing
You're a warrior
And He brought you through
Oh my Lord
The reason is You

You're not alone
You're not alone

You are not alone
This world is not your home

When He gave you
More than you thought you could handle
Everyone would understand if you
Fell to pieces
But you're climbing
You're a warrior
And He brought you through
Oh my Lord
The reason is You

Oh the reason is You
Oh God, You bring me through
Until the waves are few
It's what You do
Now I trust in You

A comprehensive list
Of things that people don't say to me
Don't say to her, fat girl
Don't say to her, dumb ****
Don't say.
"You're not that fat"
"You don't need to diet"
"Have you eaten today?"
"Are you making yourself throw up?"
"Are you bulimic?"
"Are you feeling okay?"
"I believe that he assaulted you."
So every day I put on a new mask
Made of lavender soap and my own blood
That I continually drain out of my body
Onto a sheet of paper
Onto a slate of stone
Write it on my skin.
Because every day,
A new version of myself comes to dinner
Will it be the quiet, gentle Sarah who is too far too boring
But well behaved
Or will it be the loud, driven Sarah
Overstepping boundaries is her favorite passion
Doing things the wrong way is as natural to her as breathing
And then she scratches a list of things she has heard
A few times too often onto her wrist
"Fat *****."
"Waste of space."
"No one will ever love you."
"**** yourself."

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.

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
"*******."

Hi Ma, it's me
Me, equivalent to the extra ten pounds
That have molded so perfectly to round out my hips and belly.
Me, equivalent to everything society wants to shut out
Fat, free, female.
Me, becoming ever so used to flashing my intelligence
Instead of the skin everyone either wants to see too much of
Or encourages me to hide.
No...everything's alright
Everything, like the fact that my girl friends and I
Pass around stories of ****** abuse and harassment over tea.
Everything, like being told my worth is based on
How many men I have slept with.
Everything, like being told I should feel repentant
For no longer being a ******.
Okay, talk to you later.
I won't talk to you about
How I have no interest in the "ring by spring" phenomenon.
I won't talk to you about
How, at a Christian school, LGBTQ+ students are given a dwindling voice
As if the fire in their words will burn down a failing hierarchy.
I won't talk to you about
How hard it is to make anyone take me as seriously
As they do my male friends
Same opinions, same demeanor, different parts.
I love you
Love is supposed to be unconditional
So why am I encouraged to work so viciously to earn it
As if there is not enough to go around?
Love is supposed to benefit both parties
So why, as a woman, do I still get treated like my partner's property
As it is still custom for a father to give his daughter away to another man?
Love is supposed to be understanding
So why are **** victims still chastised by society
If they appreciate a trigger warning?
Bye.

To Brock Turner
Who they call "ex-swimmer"
"All-American"
"Former athlete"
Who I call ******
Assailant
Attacker.
I know they've made excuses for you
For your entire life
You're a daddy's boy, Brock
As he didn't think twenty minutes of action
Constitutes twenty years of punishment
But when the one you hunted wakes up
Choking on the memories you planted in her head
When she still feels the pine needles stabbing her neck
Even once they are gone
Will your father defend her?
You see, she doesn't have the luxury to get off for good behavior
In five, or ten, or twenty years
Or in your case, six months
No jury decides her fate
You already did that, Brock
And I'm sure she was not the only one
Who else's life sentence was issued by you?
How many other women were ripped from their bodies
By your hungry hands and shredding teeth?
When I get angry that you
And my own attacker
Had excuses handed to you like face cards
Because you both were young
Because you were smarter than this
Because you made a mistake
Because your future is more important than mine
I am told to stop being an angry feminist *****
Stop burning my bra and burning bridges
With men who might actually want me close.
I, the angry feminist *****, push people away
Because
I , the angry feminist *****,
am tired of men going to feminist rallies and making **** jokes in the same 24 hours
am tired of men who I've known for years trapping me in a stairwell because I will be their next piece of prey
am tired of men who are the face of male feminism treating women like clothing they can throw away when they get bored
With that,
I am reminded that it is a man's world
and I am no more than a passerby
My outrage cannot change how someone feels about my experience
about their experience
about her experience
My outrage will not cause people to hate you, Brock
My outrage can ignite a spark in someone
who is already *******
My outrage can inspire someone to use their voice
and another
and another
and another
My outrage can become another voice in a sea of fire that consumes the system which allows
you, Brock,
to mean more than your victim.
My outrage is bursting
and it does not end here.

I    go        out          for       coffee
                    with            my                        be­st                            
                                fr­iend        every
                                 evening
                         And see the thorns come out of
                    I  people In ways I wouldn't expect.
              D    One woman moves away from us. One
        R         boy calls her a terrorist. One man threate
    I           ns to have her deported Even though she w
N           as born in New Jersey.    America the free....?
K         I drink coffee with my parents in the morning, My
C          Dad's daily dose of poisons called  Fox and Friends
O     Hannity  The O'reilly Factor  Cause my ears to bleed.
    F   They say that while not all Muslims are terrorists All ter
      F   rorists are Muslim.    They use religion as a scapegoat
          E  What they don't know isThese radicals do the exact
             E same thing. I drink coffee by myself in the afterno
                 on. Somewhere, during that time Personality Ru
                  pert Murdoch blames all Muslims for terrorism.
                   He says they all must take responsibility for t
                     his "cancer". Then must I, as a Christian, tak
                      e responsibility for the KKK?  Must I, as a
                         member of your religion, Rupert, take
                           responsibility for your ignorance?  I
                             stand in solidarity with these Mus
                              lims who would never rip a hair
                                off my head or a bone from m
                                  y body.  We can do without
                                    people like you, who mak
                                        my coffee taste bitter.

My worth is not found
In thirty tablets of Tylenol Extra Strength
Chased by several shots of Everclear
Or inside someone else's body.
I used to immerse myself in this lifestyle
Until I realized I was going to waste
The feeling in my bones went missing
My desire to find that passion sank like an anchor
No search party, no Amber Alert
I was on my own
Missing an integral part of me.
I like bridges now
And I never used to.
I like flying now
I used to hate it.
But now, I look down
I don't want to plummet into the blanket of water beneath me
I don't want to hit the ground without living first.
My mind still takes me to the ruins of my past sometimes
It still holds me hostage with a gun laden with dark thoughts
But I will stay alive.
I have every reason to be dead
I have one reason to be here:
I deserve it.
Now, I drive over the George Washington Bridge
Keep my hands steady on the wheel
Sing my heart out to my favorite X Ambassadors song
Now, I sit strapped in on Delta airlines
The pilot talks about ascending
And I allow myself to rise.
He says,
"We are at fifty-thousand feet"
I smile
My spirit is now immersed in my own body
I let my tears wash over me like a monsoon
Because I am alive, darling
I do not want to jump, or fall this time
I deserve to stay soaring.

Every evening at dinner,
My mom would tell us about school.
She works there
In fact, the same one my sister and I attended.
She now tells us about education reform
And how it is ruining her classroom.
You see,
She works with special needs children
And teaching them multiple methods to do a math problem
When they understand the first one
Is like thrusting them into the middle of the ocean
Telling them to learn how to swim
And wondering why they are drowning.
Having seventh graders who read at a fifth grade level
Take the same standardized test as other kids their age
Is like putting a dachshund in a cage
And telling it to fight a pit bull.
These students are being set up to fail
And yet, the schools and the government are asking
"Why are test scores dropping?"
"Why aren't they up to par?"
"We're going to lose our money"
What quality teacher signed up to be an educator
With the idea that money would be more important
Than the children in the school system?
Who gives a **** about dollar figures
When you are pushing kids to the edge of the cliff
And getting angry when they fall off?
The game doesn't change until the directions do
But the people writing them are prioritizing the end result
Not the players.
So tell me,
Will anybody win a game that is this corrupt?
Will anybody win this game at all?
People like my mom, my English teacher
The students
Did not agree to play this way.
But if we do not set these kids up and place them in a position
Where success is possible
The future will go up in flames.

Dear Rosemarie,
I really miss you.
Please tell me you haven't forgotten
The times we went to baseball games
Or when we went to my favorite restaurant
We both ate the same thing every time.

Dear Rosemarie,
I hope you don't blame me
Just as I don't blame you.
What he did was not your fault
I still love you with every ounce of emotion my heart can build up
Our memories are like butterflies, beautiful but fleeting
And all I want is to run after them
Catch them in the palm of my small hands
Please, Auntie
Can't we run and catch them together?

Dear Rosemarie,
I've never been able to tell you how strong you are
Daddy told you what your son did to me
Over coffee at a diner in Pennsylvania
I would think that would be as bad as
A text message with contention-soaked letters
An email with despair marked in the spaces
A phone call with unrest woven into the wires
Public displays of tragedy are the worst
And seemingly impersonal.

Dear Rosemarie,
He said you were never mad
In fact,
He said you never even questioned my trembling words
That were vibrating even from miles away
My initial fear in telling was that you would be hurt
Or even angry
Although that is not in your nature
But you believed me
And for that, I will be forever thankful.

Dear Rosemarie,
Remember how Uncle Joe used to smoke
And you'd make him go outside around us kids?
I didn't even know about his habit until I was close to nine.
Well now, cancer sticks are my vice
And I don't hide it quite as well.

Dear Rosemarie,
You were the only person I accepted sympathy from
Even though I heard it through my father
Because we both lost something sacred that day.
You may be the only person as destroyed by this as I was
So here is my chance to tell you that I am sorry
Not for coming forward
Not for tearing a family apart
But for what he did to me
And how it hurt you.

Dear Rosemarie,
The pores in my bones still remind me
I am hollow
I am human
Just as he is.
I do not hate him
Try to be soft with him
After all, he was only a teenager as well.

Dear Rosemarie,
I really miss you.
Please tell me you haven't forgotten
Me
Because I will never forget you.

Helpless
Cold
Shaking
Broken
Untouchable
Hardened.

Do you see what you've done?
You have
Premeditated
Considered
Lusted for control
Desired
Executed
Attacked
Left.

Her intoxication is not an excuse.
Her skirt did not scream
"Yes!"
The fact that she is passed out
Does not mean that she hopes to wake up
With you and your friends on top of her.
Silence does not equal consent.

When will these big shots in the government
Stop preaching about "legitimate ****"
And other ******* that has to do
With a woman's ****** rights?

The church needs to stop condoning
Men giving into their whims
To dominate and control their wives.
Whether they're dating, married
Or freaking connected by a body part
If she says no
That ends it.
Period.

I feel my flesh move rivers
Staring down the clammy skin on my stomach
Looking into the face of a stranger
Body count?
Maybe four
I don't remember exactly
I put my legs up and let his body move like clockwork
It is the easiest position for me to detach
As far as I know, I keep watching the same movie
Man, in front of me
Man, ****** on
Man, inside of me
That is the moment I close my eyes
And stop watching.
That is the moment my PTSD tells me
I am not in control anymore
That is the moment I hold my breath
Dig my nails into his wrist
His throat
His eyes
So he will stop looking at me like that
So the world will stop looking at me like that
Sleeping with guys whose names you cannot remember
Makes you a **** these days
But blacking out does not always come from drinking.
He gets off
And rolls you to the bed of grass next door
He says
"That was fun."
You say
"Until next time."
And walk into the future
Onto the next one
Nameless, faceless
Leaving you
Naked, alone.