Floods of the unforgiving tide
rush in to captivate our feet.
Knee-deep in this hateful sand
we stand, our feet planted firm.
But it was always easier to fall
than to be thrown to the ground.
You were the first one who taught me
just how to be a beautiful fool.

I pretend I do not know what it's like
to grow up with two people
who hurl words like knives
who use their daughter as the scapegoat
for the problems they do not wish to deal with.
They have taught her to conform
but as she refuses
and so, she is tortured emotionally.

For then she hits thirteen
and she is awestruck by some devilish boy
who takes her on her first trip that she experiences
while intoxicated by love.
One of the side effects is blindness.

He knows exactly what she wants to hear
and he sings it to her, ever so delicately.
She will never want to let him go.
As he wraps her around his finger
she begins to see the danger
but she wants nothing more than to indulge.
She loves him, forever and always
and desires, hopes and wants nothing more
than to be his
*beautiful fool.

Twelve times.
That's how many rounds were fired
Into eighteen year-old Michael Brown
As his head absorbed the gun powder
And he fell to his death
On the hot asphalt beneath his spine.

Twelve times.
The frequency at which twenty eight year-old Darren Wilson
Shot this boy in the brain
He is responsible for taking a life prematurely
He is responsible for advancing the race precedent
Set by prior generations.

Twelve times.
The jury could have indicted him
Held him accountable for his actions
But instead they let him walk free.
Freedom, the very thing Wilson extrapolated from Brown.
Freedom, the very thing many brown boys and girls in America
Will never see
We teach them there freedom does not matter
It is in the hands of white men
As it always has been.

Twelve times.
And many times after that
Will children
Who are just as American as any other human being living on this soil
Be told they are not good enough
Merely because of the pigments in their skin
They are worth less than others
And why do we let this prevail?
Because we do not want to change it.
We are part of the problem.

Twelve times.
I can count more than that
In which I have been the beneficiary of white privilege
Which I did not earn
No, you see
White privilege is being able to say
"I am disgusted with this verdict"
But I will never be the direct recipient of its consequences.

Twelve times.
The fact that people still claim it was self-defense
Disgusts me.
Most would agree that
Beating a child into submission
Rather than acting on another form of discipline
Is criminal
Therefore, just because you want to believe
That firing twelve bullets into a barely grown boy's head
Is acceptable during an attack
Does not make it just.

Twelve times.
The starting point
The amount white people can do
About racial preference.
Start by learning from history.
And learn what you can do to change it.

Twelve times.
The amount of shots it took
To end a boy's life
The fire has been taken from his lively eyes and soul.
But the real flame
Has just been ignited.

At the bottom of the ocean
In a city on a hill
Caught in the throws of any cliche
But it better be extreme.

They left you
Wailing and afraid
I still hear your screeching voice
In the middle of the night
Or in the dawn of morning.
Is she yelling out of pain
Or out of excitement and delight that it's over?

I can't get it out of my head.
A young kid, standing in a field
Abandoned and unveiled for all the world to see.
A preteen, climbing a mountain
Built out of quicksand and depression.
An adolescent, tripping and stumbling
And not just because of the substances
That impair her fading judgment.
Yet, she's not knocked down.
She still believes in love.
Why?

Sick and jaded you
And unassuming me
Meet at some crossroads
Or maybe it's just a street.
The similarities are awe-inspiring.

Really, the poem has no reason
It makes no sense
Just as life should be.
And I love it that way.
But so many people are so serious
We have looked the other way
And decided that our existence is nothing special
But in reality, it is beautiful
Beautiful and forgotten.

I am a royal **** up.
I fall apart regularly
It has become normal
For tears to well
For my heart to swell
For I live with too much passion
And not enough practicality.
I'm sorry for being your daughter
I'm sorry for being sick
I'm sorry for destroying this family.
You are ashamed of my life
And I am too.

Finding excuses to binge and purge
Is ever so easy
I have to use the bathroom anyways
I am lonely
It is my only escape
Finding reasons not to
Is a whole lot harder.
Everybody makes mistakes
I have people who love me.
I am enough
Am I enough?
I just keep looking for reasons to say
*Yes, I am.

When he writes you saying he's in recovery
You will want to correct him.
Every particle of your skin and bones
Will scream so loudly
That no one can hear it.
When he says he has not cut, done drugs or tried to off himself in three months
Your mind will become a tornado
At the thought of his mental illness being used as an excuse.
When the word sorry finally jumps off the page
It will dive directly down your throat
Blocking your airway
Because apologies don't cover it.
Apologies will never stop strangling me
Because they didn't stop the sleepless nights
The trigger
The relapse.
Apologies will barrel down my windpipe
Until I have nothing left to say
They steal the words from me
Like you did
When your hands wondered
And your tormenting persisted
What was I supposed to say
When I couldn't get a word in?
What was I supposed to say
When the only word I knew
(Stop)
Seemed to move through you like water
Ebbing and flowing, as you relished in it.
You didn't **** me
I don't know why that matters
As if your puncturing the wall protecting my core
Would have made my story more believable
Maybe they would have cared then.
I told you this
How I do not care how sorry you are
And you told me you do not care about my opinion.
Did you just want me to remember you?
Well, darling, my name is survivor
Taste it like a bitter shot of whiskey
Wear it like a scar bound to your chest
Because I have removed you
From mine.

We mourn the loss of
My joy
My happiness
My dreams.
But wait,
Foul play is suspected.
The persons of interest include
The bullies
My daddy problems
My assault
But the real culprit who stole all my passion
Goes by these aliases, but his name is
*Depression.

I feel it coming on.
It attacks my system
With every weapon on the front line.
It wreaks havoc on my gut
When I am stressed, when I am hurting
Suddenly, my body starts to tingle
And it aches, and aches, and aches.
The pangs of panic and regret
Pierce their way into my midsection.
As my mouth begins to salivate
I know exactly what needs to be done
To make this pain disappear.
I excuse myself, neatly and politely
How ******* ironic
As I go to do one of the messiest things
I have ever done.
It's not emotional
At first
Just business as usual.
I close my eyes
Zone out
As I stick two, three fingers down my throat.
I feel the tension
As it begins to gag
Tighten, release, tighten, release
Until I can no longer breathe.
Tears begin to form
And I begin to cough, uncontrollably.
Finally, everything
All the sadness
All the lonely
All the anxiety
Is ejected from my body.
I sit on the ground
Completely calm, yet I am shaking
It is a similar feeling post-purge as it is post-cigarette
I lean against the stall
My knees pressed to my chest.
I am not sad
But I am crying.
Thinking
"What have I done?"
"How has it gotten this far?"
My legs feel like jelly
And my arms are heavier than I remember.
My head begins to roll back
As my neck is giving out on me.
It feels like I am going to lose myself
But somehow, I do not pass out.
I am snapped back into reality when
I hear someone come into the bathroom
I'm in public?
I forgot.
I walk out, emotionless and unaffected
I have done this so many times before
That I have a gigantic capacity for acting.
My body maybe cured of its physical traumas
But there is still an extreme feeling of nausea
In my heart.

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.

A streetlight is my only friend tonight.
It listens to me as I write
It watches me cry
Without passing judgement.
It smells the smoke inside my lungs
And does not say a single word about it.

A cigarette is my only friend today.
It convinces me to stay calm
And gives me the best pep talk
I have ever received.
It is like a therapist, a life coach and a lover
All rolled into one
Because as caring as it is
If you're not cautious
You will get burned.

My car is my only friend this evening.
It lets me get away
When things get tricky at home.
It allows me to dodge every
Hate-infused word that is fired like a bullet
Every
"You're too fat"
And
"What is wrong with you?"
Driving on the open road
Is my escape from the clammer and the noise.

Well, I guess I have several friends after all
So why do I still feel so lonely?

I carry my baggage with me
Like a sack of ashes.
I have been burned and charred
By various sources
They are all that remain.
And yet you complain
That they don't smell good
And that they obstruct your view
I'm sorry I ruin your idealistic scenery
Considering your eyes are closed to a ******* up world
And you make your focus
The residue it left behind?
I hate to break it to you
But ashes are the result
Of a terrible fire that continues to incinerate
Our flesh and bones collectively.
The human race will eventually burn to a crisp
And you're worried about the remains
That I use to heed warning to others.

I can't stop my hands from shaking
My mind won't stop spinning
My head is relentlessly pounding
And my heart is breaking.

Can I deliver myself
From such a curse that I can't control?
You have my body aching
And not only that
But you also have my soul.

Don't show your scars
They say
You're doing better on your own.*
But life's waves consume you
And the brokenness enthralls you
Bit by terrified bit
Is it possible
To just "fake it til you make it"?

So you try to just move on
But you're doing everything wrong
No one can hold you back
Because it feels like your world
Is under attack.
Deception is not your intention
But face it, you're fake
Soon enough you're bound to break.

You can't do this any longer
It's not going to make you stronger
So darling, let it go
Let the ink and the tears begin to flow
You don't have to be heroic
When it's making you so stoic
You can fight this emotional plague
Once you realize
That you don't need to be okay.

Seeing you when you were broken
Strengthened me.

On the morning of March 1st, 2015
At 4:03 AM Eastern-Standard Time
I awoke with a violent tremor
As if someone took my shoulders
And shook me awake
As if someone was in the room with me
I heard a loud moan, but it wasn't my own.

That morning, Dad told me you were gone
Before the words left his chapped lips
I knew.

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.

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.

Disgusted with the way
You pulled my hair out of my face
I looked up to you
But right now
I am looking down at you.

I am seven years old
And my big Levittown style home
Surrounded by a white picket fence
In all it's ironic glory
Consumes me alive.

You always told me
This is what big kids do.
But I am not a big kid yet.

You always told me
This is just a game
But it isn't fun anymore.

You always told me
This is normal
But this is the farthest thing from it.

Now "home" and "family"
Mean nothing to me.

I said
"No."
So why didn't you
Leave me
*alone?

Blood taints the water
That I crave, that I am supposed to drink
Your love is a poison
That I wish to smear
All over my face and hands.
Stain them red
As they have been cut by lust's sharp blade
You are my addiction
Your white powder, I will inhale
I will breathe your smoke into my lungs
Coughing and spitting up the life I left behind
I strip bare of the things that keep me innocent
Make love to the sadness that returns
With the sound of your name, your voice
Blisters caress my skin
As my vitals shrivel up inside me
I will let you, I beg you to
Incinerate me, darling
I miss our dangerous adventures
Incinerate me, darling
*So we can fall for each other again

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 4 minutes ago
I found out you were soon to be
Embedded in the earth we used to dance on
But who's counting?

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 5 minutes ago
My world came to a crashing halt.
The I wish I could have been there's
Shocked my skin like a nine-volt battery.
I didn't feel pain
I didn't feel anything
I hit the ground and my endorphins were racing
Like a pin ball machine
They kept running into each other at rapid fire speeds
But I didn't care.

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 6 minutes ago
I sat in my car, getting high on every particle of air that flooded my lungs
I drove for an hour looking for a store that would sell me a **** pack of cigarettes
I planned to down all twenty of them
So at least then I could have a prayer of getting sleep that night.
But my usual spot had a cop car in front of it
So I stuck it out
This town gets so boring after dark
Everything closes at 9.
Needless to say,
I was tobacco-less for the rest of that night.

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 7 minutes ago
I started to restore my faith in you.
It was ironic, considering you were already gone
And the circumstances were extremely unbecoming
But my memory was like a movie montage
Every picture we ever took
Every event behind the camera
I remembered.
And suddenly,
You weren't a drug addict anymore.

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 8 minutes ago
I was praying this wasn't real.
I was really trying to believe that this was a joke
And you would pop out of nowhere saying
"Got you, *****!"
You always did have a slightly morbid sense of humor.

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 9 minutes ago
I didn't cry for you
But my heart was a rock in my stomach
My body took the blow
Much worse than my mind did
At least at that time.
There was a total disconnect between the two entities.

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 10 minutes ago
A part of me changed.
And I could use an abundance of metaphors
To describe this feeling more vividly
But the truth of the matter is
No words will ever be able to convey the pain of losing one of your first best friends
To an overdose.

2 months, 5 days, 6 hours and 11 minutes ago
I missed you intensely
And I haven't stopped since.

You have hurt me
By judging how I grieve.
Still, I should not have lashed out.
My heart has been a dark abyss
I find myself loveless
Both in giving and in receiving it.
It is not fair how I am acting
But neither is what is happening.
My life has crumbled before my eyes
He was not supposed to die
And I cling to guilt and sadness
Like bitter friends
As they are all I have left.
This is not meant to be
A wasted apology
But I am sorry
For acting so selfishly
And for simply
Becoming a new, more sinister
Lonelier version of me.

Every inch of you
Entangled every inch of me.
I did not welcome it with open arms
In fact, I pushed you away
But your words were like bullets
Shooting down each and every
"Just do this another time"
And
"Not here, not now."
You made me afraid to say no
That does not mean I was saying yes.
Nobody knows what you did
Because they think we just hooked up.
They believe that because I had lost my virginity
I no longer deserved respect
I no longer had a voice
Nor did I get to consent.
People think
That just because we didn't have ***
(Although, the relentless, derogatory texts you kept sending
Could have sent anyone over the edge)
It's not a big deal.
They accept the notion
That if a girl meets a guy for a specific purpose
Things are bound to happen
And changing your mind
Is not an option.
You did not **** me, let's be clear about it
But that, ladies and gentleman
Is **** culture at it's finest.

They say
"Old habits die hard"
In reality
The only way to get rid of
The beast of addiction
The monster of obsession
The serpent of temptation
Is to
****** the **** thing
Before it can **** you first.

I've been wandering
On my own again.
I've been following this lonely road
Hoping to find home again

Where did all the people go?
The ones I knew and loved
Dissipated like doves
Perturbed by a bitter sequence
Of insanity in the air
That came in
And hit them like a hurricane

The ones who remain
Are few and far between
None of whom are perfect
But they are here

They may not always have my back
But I seldom have anyone else's.
I know better than to expect people
To look out for me
It has become a lost cause.

I don't need
Any knight in shining armor
Any superman
As I will only be his kryptonite.

I'm not a damsel in distress
No Louis Lane
No Cinderella
Not today.
No,
Today I am my own hero
And  I am all I need to survive.

My parents ask me                                               whenever I am in my room
                                                                   For several hours at a time
"What do you do all day?"
I sit in my room writing poems
                                   for boys who will never write back
Writing letters                                           to people who have abused me
Writing letters                                     to my eating disorder
"Hi, how are you?"
                                                                 "Haven't seen you in a while."
((And I'm ever so ******* thankful for that))
However, this time she responded
                                                  "It's almost Thanksgiving,"
"We should talk"
It's like she's carving her name into my bones                      one more time
It's like she finds purpose in ******* the life from my heart            with a straw
She is a cut that just won't heal
A stalker you can't get rid of
And yet,                                                                           you continue to want her
She is a paradox
Because you feed her           open mouth with the         grapes fit for                  a      queen
But she is the evil                                               witch.
She reminds me that               I need her
Traveling through the canals in my                             bones
Shooting up my                                         spine
Making my                                                             blood flow in waves
I           cannot            control             her
She tells me again,                        as if I hadn't                           considered it
That these holidays are going to be                           hard
They are going to try to                rip the skin            off of me
Pluck each individual                                                                   eyelash from me
Seeing how much I can take                                                                                                                      
before I lose it.
After all, my      grandfather          is              gone
And the last time he saw me
She was still                              my partner
Attached               at the hip
Last Thanksgiving, she not only              sat        with      me at the table
But held      my        hair         back                  as I vomited my dinner into the toilet
It's so            sad          and               sick that sometimes                I miss her
Like an old friend,                                              an old pair of shoes
So worn and broken
But still somehow             a part of me.
Still, I                            refuse to                                          sink
I am a ball of fire                                ready to explode
But I will contain
the                                                     urge
                                     to
               relapse
Until my
                         very
last
                  breath.
She will not be the thing     that                          kills me
I will                            die                                                               fighting her off
Escaping her talons
Recognizing she plants                                                                 bombs in me
Not roses.
So, when                       my parents ask me                                           what I do all                                            day now
I can                say
                                                      "Live."

Holding on and breaking down
happen simultaneously.
You grasp at straws
as your hands are pried from the handle
you once had on life.
You are walking
and yet you go nowhere.
Gravity's strong hands will drag you
to the bottom of the sea.
It's inevitable,
the downfall and the events leading up to it.
You make a promise:
I will not __  for  __ days.
You keep it,
but how long are you expected to continue?
If you do it again,
you will be met with sharp remarks
and criticism aimed to destroy you.
The physical and emotional wares
of resisting your only coping strategy
are far more detrimental than you imagined.
You abandon the thing you know
and can almost understand.
You swear you are giving yourself ulcers.
If you are doing the right thing,
why does it feel like the earth
is crumbling beneath your feet?
Like you will never get better
and stop feeling sick?
This is more than you anticipated,
can you hold your own?
How long are you supposed to fight?
Everyone expects you to hold these answers
in some secret, unexplored chamber
that you have never dared venture into.
In reality,
you will put these questions to rest
with experience and discipline.
It's all just part of holding on.

I use pain for inspiration.
Because something that is terrible at face value
Can be used to create
Beautiful masterpieces.

I hate you
I hope you get hit in the face
With a brick
And finally, lastly, conclusively
*******.

Keep your eyes on the prize.
You're losing yourself in cliches
As you try to find exactly that.
Who you are , what you want
How to get it
All of these ring simultaneously in your mind
As you step up to the plate.
You're strong,
But you need to be stronger.
You're smart,
But you will only get ahead
If you get smarter.
These are the lies you have been fed.
That you will always be inadequate
And you will never be enough.
Now it is wrecking every area of your existence
You stray from your old friends
Your grades are out of your hands
And your burned out disposition tends
To be a hurtle for your failing body.
Nobody even stops to ask
"Are you alright?"
Because they don't want
To hear the inevitable answer.
You start to feel the heat
But you are denying that there is a fire.
So keep your eyes on the prize
I really hope it's worth
Your beautiful demise.

Happiness is
                     the shards of glass piercing     my feet as I walk on them.
          your ******* story
                  painted with poison
injected with ink
so your name will forever             dance across my skin
                                                        ratt­le in my bones
                                                        lin­e my longing lips.
Happiness is
                         forgetting who I am for a moment
              then remembering I never was
You make me forget the
               crushed seashells in my palms
            demons hiding behind my smile
               turbulence in my brain, 
     ready to sputter out of control
Happiness is
            the way you take control of this airplane
    steady me out
           smooth it over
make me angry
Happiness is
           socially acceptable madness.
            That's why I am so
madly in love with you
          and that's perfectly fine with me.

You blame me for it all.
Everything you have been through
All of your failed attempts at perfection
The fact that your family is falling apart
The reason why I am not your description
Of what a woman should act like.
You think I should be submissive
Well, I am not so prim and ******* proper
Sorry I do not fit the bill.
If a guy even looks at me
You rush in like a blood-hungry wolf
Thank you for the protection
But I don't need saving.
Thanks for the expectations
For preparing me for "the real world"
But I know what I want out of my life.
So stop picking at nearly healed scabs
And move on with your own life.
Because this child of yours
She has run away with herself.
She is a little too loud
A little too rowdy
She wouldn't have it any other way
And neither would her friends.
The reason she is never coming back
Is because you pushed her too far.
Maybe one day you will regret
Everything you claim that you are not at fault for.
Boy, are you wrong.

Take me away
So I can silently break
Let me shatter
Away from all of this clatter
I can't stand the sound
Of a life going down
I allow myself to sink
And before I can blink
I am at the bottom of the sea.
Won't someone save me?
They think I'm pure as snow
Not that I am boiling and smoking
And they will never know
That I am beyond broken

They see it
Suddenly the mold I am trying to keep begins to crack
And the clay is ruined from the creases that form
As the pieces begin to fall away
Because life is chipping at each and every one for every second that I breathe
Every single day

Now, the exact people who I was trying to keep out
The ones who I wanted to respect me
Because I respect them so much
The ones who I kept putting on this face for
This false confidence that was the type of bravado a high school football player exerts when he says
"I got this" on the day of his first game
And he puffs out his barrel chest but really he is shaking in his cleats
They are the ones who know how not okay I am.

My extremely attractive (and married...but attractive nonetheless) teacher has seen me sob over my grades
Another, who reminds me of my grandpa, has seen me break down during a movie
That stirred up feelings of anxiety due to my current situation
And still a guidance counselor who, over the years, has been more of a father figure to me than my own father has been
Has seen me completely depleted because I cannot pull myself out of this situation that is draining the color from my skin
And the life from my soul

They do not get it
How am I supposed to just sit here and watch my best friend in this ungodly amount of pain
Because her father just died
And realize that I can do nothing about it
Without wanting to fall apart and come undone at the seams of my very being?

So now,
All I do is cry and sleep
And sleep and cry.
I can feel the remains of depression
Trickling down the back of my neck like sticky sweat
That triggers a nerve and makes every hair stand straight up.

Who am I?
I am just some nervous wreck basket case
Walking talking hot mess
To some, I am just some overly emotional *****
Who cannot keep her mood in check
And who invites pain and drama into her life.
Is that all that my life has become?
There must be more
There must be more

If there is not
Would it hurt me to fall into some indefinite coma that is synonymous to a black hole that will swallow my life
Into an undefined space, somewhere
As if I am just sleeping in limbo.

People can make their own choices
Conservative, liberal, independent
Who gives a flying ****?
Just don't take away my rights
And don't take theirs either.
When Jesus said not to judge
That meant you too.
Save the unborn babies,
**** and violate the women
Logical, completely.
I guess all that I'm saying is
Stop being an *******.

Temporary pain?
Thoughts caress a suicidal mind
Spinning and tripping
Spinning and falling
Losing it.
And you are trying to tell me
This goes away?

Running the risk of sounding pessimistic
I question that idea.
Stuck between evasion and circumstance
Cornered in the darkest place
Eerier than you ever imagined
More vile than you ever dreamed.

So weep, dear child
Sob.
Then they whisper in your ear
Everything will get better.
How dare they?

You mention thoughts of death
Of self-inflicted ******
And they pierce you like a weapon.
Telling you its selfish
And that this will come to an end.

In my opinion,
Life's payoff is not a reason to stay alive.
If you expect the pain to end
And to have joy brought back to you
You will be disappointed.
The rationale for continuing to move
Is that if you're here, I believe,
There is a reason.
You want to discover that
And you will
As long as you keep breathing.

Everything is moving
But I'm standing still.
Bouncing, up and down
Tilting, side to side
Spinning, in circles
I think I'm getting motion sickness.

Everything is moving
But I'm standing still.
Slowly, as if it's lagging along
And the world's passing me by.
Quickly, at speeds of 100 miles an hour
And I can't keep up anymore.
It's leaving me behind.

Everything is moving
But I'm standing still.
Now the motor's getting louder
And I can't shut it up.
Fast, slow, silent, deafening
When will it end?
I am ready to get off this ride.

Once upon a time
There was a girl
Who was grieving
There was also a boy
Who took grave advantage of her situation.

Get away from me.
I never said yes
Did I say no?
I don't know
I don't...

No.
You don't get to blame your mental state
For what you did to me
I have depression too
And I would never do that to someone.

So then there was today.
When I had to train you at work
I saw you walk in for training
And prayed to God she wouldn't say my name.

"Sarah! Can you train _ on register?"
****.
*******. **** this. **** my life.
My anxiety has suddenly spiked through the roof.
I start shaking and digging nails into my wrist.

"Sh-sh-sure."
I st-stuh-stuttered like a scratched CD
This isn't fair
Why me?

I was impressed with myself
And how professional and cordial I was
I wanted to tear your eyes out
But I managed to tell you how to do your job effectively
And even was almost supportive when you got it right.

If that wasn't traumatizing enough
You have to try to flirt with me
Or act like we're friends
Well **** that.

You were never my friend.
I may have thought you were
But you were the opposite.
Besides,
You told my friend who's stuck on you like a sick puppy
(God knows what she sees in you)
That you hate me
That I cause drama
Etc.

At one time, I assumed you really did.
And I was okay with that
I lived with that perfectly fine
But now I know you see your fault
You know you did something awful
But you will never admit it.

So, in conclusion
Go ahead and stick your dagger in my chest
I won't even feel it.
I'll walk on pretending I'm fine
Even if I'm dying.

And finally**
***** you.

I promised myself
I would not say a word until I am 18
In 1 year 4 months and 8 days from now
But who's counting?
Then I would be able
To make my own decisions
About prosecution
About who to tell.
When we're all off
In our independent fantasy worlds
Everyone's at a different school
So the focus will not be on me.
He will probably still be living in his mother's basement
Talking to girls online
Propositioning them for ***
Meeting them in a stairwell
Bullying them into doing what he wants
And leaving if he doesn't get it
Or once he's been satisfied.
Keeping them awake at night
Beating themselves up over questions like
"Can I even do anything about it?"
Causing them to panic
At the sight of his face
When he still has the audacity to
Say hi to them in the hallways.
Wondering how to classify
Some of the darker things he did.
Were they assault, exploitation, coercion
Or a mix of all three?
And when their friend starts dating him
She heeds warning to her.
The friend doesn't listen the first time
And gets hurt.
Two months later,
She wants to get back with him
The young girl again warns against it
But she doesn't tell her friend why
Because she is protecting herself.
She gets backlash for this
Harassed for being insensitive and horrible.
That came like a slap in the face.
So what will she do now?
Will she speak out to prove herself
Or keep it under lock and key
As she had planned?
What will I do now?
I thought I was getting better
But now it's haunting me
As the situation gets more and more potent
And someone gets hurt either way.

Did I make you lose your faith in love?
Darling, I know I'm so horrible
And the fact that I walked away
Oh, you could have died that day
But you didn't
And thank God for that.

Did I make you lose your faith in God?
Or some higher diety
That may or may not exist.
Sorry I question the things
That do not make sense to me.
I know I should just fall in line
Right?

Did I make you lose your faith in humanity?
Well I guess I'm just that terrible
I might as well have caused a world war
Because you treat me like a prisoner
I know it's all my fault.

Did I make you lose your faith?
No, honey
You have been faithless from the start.

Think about the happy times.
You're lucky you had sixteen years with him
I never got that.
Stop isolating yourself and move on.
You're so pessimistic.
It's better that he didn't suffer.
Everybody grieves differently.*
Then why can't you just let me
Grieve my way?

They say actions speak louder than words
But thoughts speak louder than actions.
Frankly, they are the ones screaming at the top of their lungs
With ghastly shrieks that pierce through the membrane of my mind
Filling it with awful ideas and even worse plans.
Thoughts do not have to be socially acceptable
As actions do.
For example,
I can consider
Sending myself off the George Washington bridge
And wonder if anyone would bother saving me.
I can plan my own funeral in my head
And ponder if anyone would even cry.
However,
I cannot attempt any of those things without intervention.
I cannot say such things without offending or concerning others.
Thoughts like these can also be unconscious
And frequently, they are.
They hurt, bang, and cause clutter in my head
But still, I know I will be okay
Because suicidal thoughts
Do not constitute
Suicidal actions.

Why does it make me
So ******* angry
That you died so soon?
You were not supposed to leave
But you didn't suffer
So why do I worry?
Why do I cry and scream
Even when I think I'm happy?

----

You can burn in Hell
For what you did to me
Your mere presence makes me ill
And the fact that I am keeping your secret
Is more than devastating.
But I'm not keeping it for you

You **** me off
Because you are alive
But you don't scare me
So why do I cry and scream
Even when I think I'm happy?

------

I'll never tell, darling
Because that's what you want
Is for it to destroy me
But its doing that anyway.
So which is worse, baby?

I'll never tell, honey
That the loss of your life
Is eating my heart away
So which is worse, sweetie?

Anger or sadness
Which is worse?

They never tell you how to feel
When a childhood best friend
Accidentally overdoses on some unknown contraband
At seventeen.

You have to learn for yourself
That it feels like
You're here
But you're not.
You're in pain
But it's not real.
That it's not happening
But it is.

We hadn't talked in a good deal of time
And yet, now it seems like time has run out.
My head feels like it's spinning in circles
But why?

Because I remember you
Playing in the street
With your edgy yet strangely appealing
Sense of humor that drew everybody to you.

Because I remember you
Teaching me to wear makeup
Building fortresses in the woods
We shared behind our houses.
Back then, we were obsessed with Chris Brown
And "With You" was rattling off our lips

Because I remember you
When you found out that I had been violated
In the worst way possible.
When you found out I had cut myself for the first time
Which, for what it's worth, I don't do anymore
And that you cared, always
Even at eleven or twelve.

Because I remember you as pure.
You are not your addiction
For you will always be an innocent
In my mind's eye.

Am I even breathing anymore?
I can see
Hear
Smell
Touch
But to breathe,
That takes energy.

Your body on top of me
Made me feel like I was drowning.
I mean
Clearly you did not **** me
But I ****** you out of guilt.
And what does that say about me?
That I am extremely weak.

I went home that night
Speeding even though snow was pouring out the sky
Feeling like I could ***** any second.
I haven't eaten since.
I quickly washed my clothes
And changed into something baggy.
I wanted to hide from everyone
As if my scarlet letter was branded on my chest
Carved savagely by a butcher who skins the weak.

So take your poison back, dear
I don't want your trace on me.
It triggered every memory I have of ****** assault
Sadly, the number is higher than it should be.

Lose me from your body
So I can be *alone.

Forgiving your abuser
Is never easy to do.
You remember the way
He pulled your hair back out of your face
He touched your childlike waist
As well as other parts of you.
He acted like you were his own personal plaything
While in reality you were innocent.
Then, the hell that ensued afterwards
Could have made even the strongest person
Break
Into a thousand little pieces
Each one sharper than the former.
And now,
I'm supposed to forgive you?
As much as I sometimes wanted to do just that
I could not let go of the shame and anger
You added to my life.
And then,
Every time I would go to camp or church
And hear a sermon on forgiveness
I would be overcome with guilt.
I know I should let it go
But a part of my heart is still reeling from it.
Until I can stop replaying that event in my mind
I must focus on me
Not you.
However,
I have started moving on.
Therefore, maybe in due time
I will be able to say
*I forgive you.

Am I supposed to cry?
Or should I hold it together?
Would it make me look heartless
If I didn't shed a tear?
My body is breaking down to the bone
My mind is numbed by various events
Is it sickness or sadness
That is wearing me thin?
I tried to write you a song
But I couldn't get past the first verse.
What can I do to honor you now?
I wish I knew what to feel
And how to express it all.

Who can possibly stomach
Food after crying for over an hour?
That is why I have always found
Eating after a funeral
Just a tiny bit awkward.
They always buy tons of
Cookies and sandwiches and sodas
But what is the point?
Are these earthly luxuries
Supposed to bring us some sort of twisted comfort
In this time of deep grief?
Therefore,
When I am offered food following a funeral
I will politely say
"I'll pass."

Knives in my knee
Needles in my wrist
Everything feels wrong
My knuckles turned white
So I stopped holding on.