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.

For my Pop Pop
I want to see you.
Even in your frailty
As your bones shake in the gentle wind like chimes
I want to be close to you.
Your flesh is nearly transparent
The veins in your face and the thinning of your silver hair
Make you look much older than the 71 years
That have left rings on your skin.
Some say you were a poor father
And an even poorer husband.
You never got along with my aunt
Your daughter
Your beam of light shining through the sidewalk cracks
And she began to shine for other people
But her brightness reflected off of ice
And I know her coldness is not merely human nature.
Pop Pop, why were you always so kind
To my sister and me?
It's like we thawed your hardened spirit
So we could see the softness lying underneath.
Funny how it's just natural
For a three year-old and a newborn to make a grown man crumble.
I don't want to think about the fact that you may never walk again
Because your disease can never steal where we've been
Although, perhaps mundane
Steak-and-Shake, our rented condo,
And plenty of barbecue spare rib joints later
All meant the world to me.
I wish I could say something other than
The last time I saw you was on my sixteenth birthday.
It's been over a year since you stayed in the Sunshine State
And I traveled home to my garden
Pop Pop, it was hard as the years went by
The only way we got to know you was through $20 gift certificates
And the static on the other end of the telephone
On birthdays and holidays.
I wish I had called you more
Because now it's hard for you to speak.
Daddy said you had a shotgun subtlety when you spoke
"How bout them Phillies?"
"Oh....the cancer spread."
"Have you been to a game in a while?"
Pop pop, now I'm the one who's shotgun subtle
"How's the hospital food?"
I'm scared I won't get to see you
"How are you feeling?"
I'm scared you won't get better
I love you, Pop.
*I'm scared.

Magazines, girlfriends, my mother
They always talk about closure
I have found that closure does not exist
Anywhere outside the labyrinth of mind

I have found that the only way
To get over my manipulative ex-boyfriend
Was to walk away without looking back
Was to learn to love myself unapologetically
And not long for anyone to do it for me

I never wanted closure after disclosing my assault
Never wanted an apology to flow
From his water-colored mouth
He was a family member
And I was a child
Cat and mouse
He made me forget that I am worth more
Than where his hands went eleven years back
And where he forced mine to go.

Closure can look like taking your clothes off
In front of a full length, 360 degree mirror
And saying
"****."
It can be thanking God for the bend in my knee
The curve of my hips
The bulge of my stomach
To thank Him for letting me live this long

After a suicide attempt
After an eating disorder
I should not be alive
But I am
Is that not closure enough?

See, closure is misleading
It is not the end of a stage in your life
But the moment you realize
You don't need anything else
To continue to live.

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.

The disparity between the rich and the poor in New York is severe.  People in business suits and people wearing rags walk the same streets, but do not even look each other in the eye.  Generally, judgment flows both ways.  The wealthy believe that the poor bring it upon themselves, that they are *****, and that they are nothing more than charity cases.  The destitute criticize those who have money to be stuck-up and hypocritical.  I have had the unique chance to break these characterizations that, in many cases, could not be farther from the truth.  Many people on the streets have taken wrong turns on the road of life, are addicted, and have made their own bed in some respect.  However, many have struggled with broken homes, have a mental illness or have a hard time speaking English.  They did not choose this life for themselves; their circumstances placed them into it.
Take Herman for example.  As an immigrant from Guatemala, his family seldom had much money.  As an adult, he was in an accident and injured his leg, leaving him unable to work.  After being incapable of supporting himself for many years, he lost his small apartment and became homeless.  He is one of the people who came out the Relief Bus nearly every time I was in that spot.  The Relief Bus is an organization that my dad found through my church.  They go to several spots in New York City and Newark to feed soup to the passersby out of a hollowed out school bus.  It was a chilly night in Port Authority when I was talking to Herman.  What struck me about him was that he was wearing shorts in forty degree weather.  He had several scarves and a hat on, and all of his belongings were in a shopping cart that he carried around with him.  I get cold pretty quickly, so I was bundled up in a few layers of sweatshirts but I was still shaking.  He handed me a scarf and my friend Sam a hat, both of which looked nearly new.  I began to tear up and did not know what to say.  This man who literally had nothing was giving us articles of his clothing.  That night, I had almost stayed home, as I was tired and still grieving over my grandpa, who had passed away suddenly a week and a half earlier.  For a moment, I forgot that I was suffering.  For a moment, I could focus on giving love and compassion, as well as receiving it.  For a moment, I was at peace.
Coincidentally, that night I slept for the first time since my grandpa passed away.  Prior to this, I had fallen asleep in the theatre and passed out in a parking lot after chain smoking a pack of Marlboros.  I still had nightmares and woke up several times that night, but it was a start.  Maybe this was because I knew my grandpa was proud of me, or maybe it was because for the first time in years, I was proud of myself.

I do not expect people to warm up to my work like a familiar friend. I don't write to form a lovey dovey bond with my reader. My writing purposefully makes people uncomfortable and causes them to question my sanity. It is supposed to be relatable to the darker side of human nature, and to cause people to look in the mirror and think I'm not really like that, am I? I am here to expose that life is not a folk tale, but the beholders can choose their own destiny. I am a strong believer in free will and that the power to change one's situation lies within a that person's grasp. Even when the circumstances are inevitable, the outcome is entirely up to that person. Perception is reality, and what someone believes about their life will become the way they go about living it. While I do write to uncover this beautiful, yet treacherous, side of human life, I mostly write about my own experiences. I have plenty of muses, whether they're people I love, hate or miss dearly. I do not write to impress anyone; poetry and prose are my catharses. I write to battle demons, win trials, keep myself humble and to give myself a little something to brag about. Essentially, I write for me.

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.

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 am in a good place
But will it stay for good?
If I can merely get through the winter
I know things will be okay
In the long run.
After all
Cold weather freezes previously broken hearts
Until they crack and like glass
They shatter.
But I will keep hope's beacon
In my peripheral vision
As it is the only thing I continue to hold onto.
Can you hold me through these frigid months?
If you can keep me warm
Then my good place will forever exist
In your arms.

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.

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.

Childhood**
What was it?
At first glance
It may be an innocent depiction
Of playing in the streets
Until way past dusk

Running anywhere and everywhere
Scraped knees
Bicycle races
Talent shows
Swimming pools

Is that my childhood?
Perhaps
But that is not what I remember.

I recall
Being violated
Humiliated
Shamed into eating less than the other kids
Or eating nothing at all.

Being told I'm fat
Being bullied at school and at home
Holding onto secrets
That literally made me sick
With headaches and stomaches.
I was predisposed to extreme stress
And all of it's physical symptoms.

All of that innocence
Was taken from my ***** little fingers
I was forced to take accountability
For things that were done to me

I learned about things
That no child should know
And yet
They wonder why I blame myself?
I guess these are just the perks
Of growing 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.

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.

It gets me every time
When they say to me
"You have your grandpa's eyes."

Why does everyone keep telling me
I'm fine?
I am sick of people acting
Like they know what's best for me.
What's right
What's wrong
Like everything's that black and white.
Death and grief
Come in different tints and hues.
Tragedies like abuse
Still have various nuances.
And illness, whether physical or mental
Has different shades too.
So stop saying
I'll be okay
I'm pessimistic
I am over dramatic
I'm selfish
Could we just
Silence the clamor for a while?
All of this noise
Is giving me a headache.

My assailant does not know he is an abuser
He has been taught that women are fire
That ignite at the flicker of his match
Our voices are taught to roll back into our throats
Mine has even made a home for itself there.

He tells that he is sorry
Which feels like a band aid covering a bullet wound
It just keeps the the object lodged inside
Because I cannot tell him how "sorry"
Is a scathing knife against my neck
I cannot tell him I did not sleep for weeks
How my body lunged into a manic episode
For one of only two times ever.

I am no one else's fire now
I ignite only for myself
No one will incinerate inside of me
I am a Phoenix, rising from the flame
My ashes are more beautiful than my burning body
Set me on fire, and I will show how eloquent
Heated iron can be.

My mouth is a weapon now
It is not for your pleasure
My tongue, a slinging sword
Not to be smashed against yours
I have risen from the flames
And, as Maya Angelou so powerfully proclaims
Still I rise.

I love you
And I hope you've found your
Home.

Skinny people,
Please do not jump on the defensive
But if you have never experienced the following
This is your privilege.
You did not ask for it
Just as we did not ask for our scarlet letter
Our crown of thorns that is weight.
I am forty pounds overweight
According to my doctor.
According to society
I am ninety
Telling me that 110 pound models are the normal
Ridiculously
Teaching me to swim by water boarding me
And then wondering why it is not effective.
Laughing in my face when I become bulimic
Which cannot be blamed on our culture
But the way our culture is shaped to think
Fat people can't get eating disorders
Or if they do, more power to them.
Being told
"You are part of the obesity epidemic"
You are an epidemic
Aren't we so coy to use the word 'epidemic'
For anything we want to get rid of?
Being charged more to sit on an airplane
Because your extra baggage will offend the other passengers
Because your extra baggage is an economical discretion
Like the economy could get any more ridiculous as it is?
Eating a salad and being the brunt of their jokes
Eating a burger and receiving disapproving looks
From mothers and their children
Who are being conditioned systematically to criticize others
Simply based on their outward appearance.
Being a ****** fetish on **** websites
Like my body type is a piece of raw meat
Fit for the slaughter
But it needs to have the fat trimmed off first.
Having people ask your partner what it is like to make love to you
While you are standing in the room
As if you are invisible?
Funny how the additional weight
Acts as a cape
That seems to cover you when people do not want you to exist.
Being told if you ever love your body
That you are lazy, slobbish, and disgusting
Well guess what, *******?
I LOVE this body
And all the things it does for me
How it moves
How it operates
How it is able to function
And just as frequently as people try to take bits of life from me
I breathe them back in
And they invigorate my being
My pores tingle with acceptance
So I rip the sheet off
Every inch of my body is visible
Can you see who I am now?
I finally am someone
Loved, accepted and beautiful.
I am more than just heavy.

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.

To the men who talk down to me
As though I am helpless
Because the parts of my body.
You do not know the meaning of helpless
Until you are being stared straight in the face by fear
Like looking down the barrel of a gun
It's hands strapped around your breathless throat
Point blank range
Eyes closed.
You wait for it to fire
You know it's coming
Words, usually starting with
"We need to talk"
Or
"You better sit down."
You know it can't be good
As tears fill her once shining eyes
And those stars fall into the ocean.
Then you learn very quickly
Almost by instinct
That everyone you love must die.
Helpless is when comforting your mother
Makes you a seamstress.
Stitching her together while you yourself are composed of
False hope
Fading memories
Fear.
Helplessness is when behind this gun is the face of a man
A man you prayed you could trust
But he violates you
Colors your view of the opposite ***
From the time you are seven years old
He ties the noose that you continually hang yourself with
In the years to come.
Helplessness is when you tell yourself you have moved on but
No matter how much therapy they inject into your veins
No matter how many drugs they try to numb you out with
Influence spreads like a virus
Into every area of your life
But since you have become so distantly removed
So adamantly avoidant of this looming secret
Like smoke rising to the ceiling
You notice something lower itself
Whenever you have to face this head on again:
Fear.
See it is a cycle
Helplessness is a cycle
And it always ends in fear
*How can I remove myself from this circle?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can't break out
Of these chains that bind my brokenness
In a straightjacket, I stand
Just waiting for a prognosis.
I cling to anything, everything
I possibly can
As the pieces of my once perfect life
Fall down around me.
Who am I to believe
That I am good enough?
Who am I to believe
That I will make it out of here alive?
So I sit, and I wait, and wait
Staring at the blank wall
I think I am going crazy
But really
I am simply trapped and unmoved
By the holding cell of mental illness.

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.

You
   fell
      apart

            right
                in
                   front
                  of
                my
         young
   *eyes

Truth be told
I want to cut my memory out of your veins
Watch you bleed me into a puddle on the floor
I hope you enjoy watching what you've done to me

Truth be told
Please don't speak my name again
It smells like rancid meat dripping out out of your saliva
You are not the first who has taken advantage
But I pray you will be the last

Truth be told
I don't really hate you
I just said that over the phone
Because I hated that I couldn't keep your faith in me
When your body came crashing into me like a tidal wave
Then, I had your trust
Then, I had your attention
Then, I had you

Truth be told
I don't miss you anymore
But I don't want you to remember me as I was
Or as I am
I know I will be someone of great esteem one day
And you?
You'll be here with your **** in one hand
And a pack of cigarettes in the other
Wishing I had been cut from your body
Before you let me inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He watches from a ***** window pane
As his uncle suits up in his cap and gown
It's ironic how different they are.
Daddy was shot when he was young
He really never had anyone
Mama did her best
But sometimes
Best isn't sufficient for a ten year old child.

She is in excruciating pain each day
It's hard for her to get through them
She's got suicide on her mind
As so much death has penetrated her life already
She spews questions at God
"Why are you doing this? Why?"
Her grandmother has passed
And her mom's racking on the years
While she herself may need surgery
How is she supposed to handle it?

I myself am depressed and anxious
Recovering from loss
Wrestling with faith
Falling from grace
And yet
I have boundless opportunities
That they do not.
Sometimes, I feel guilty for this
But others I think
Maybe this is just a reminder
Of how we're not that different after all.
*We're all just human.

You took a twisted part of me
And made it utterly broken.
Will I ever be able to live a repaired life?
Maybe, but not because of you.
You told me I was fat
When I was bulimic
You knew I had an eating disorder
Yet we talked about it maybe once
And you continued to pressure me to be the best at everything.

No empathy in my home
No, not for a disturbed, attention-seeking child
Who is really more damaged and broken
Than you will ever understand
Even if you don't care to see that.
To you,
She is just a selfish spoiled brat
Even if that was true, who's fault would that be again?
Who is trying to make your life miserable.

I wish you knew
That I cry in my bed every night
Curled up like a little child
Wishing I was lovable.

I wish you knew
Every time I purged
Back in that dark time in my life
I kept playing back the words
Daddy wants me to be thin
He won't yell at me anymore if I lose weight.
Even though that is a lie that still penetrates every ounce of my being
Because I know I will never be good enough for you.

I wish you knew
Every time I looked at the scale
I saw your face
And the number always made you angry.
I would tell myself how you would be angry with me
If I did not lose at least ten pounds in a week
So I would go harder.

I wish you knew
Every time I even began to believe I was pretty
You took that dream from my hands
And squashed it between yours.
You stole a lot of my self-confidence
And I do not know if I can ever forgive you for that.

Every cut
Every purge
Every tear
Every drop of self-hate
Every bit of longing for acceptance
All stem from you.

They are all for you
So take them as gifts
And treasure them against your cold heart
As maybe they will finally thaw it out.

My body is open
Open to a world that fails to see it's beauty
Open to people who fall in love with it's softness
Open to the mouths it feeds
With it's omnipresent nutrients.

My body is a shelter
Housing childhood memories in it's folds
Housing every insult I've ever been told
Housing brokenness, loneliness, benevolence
And everything in between.

My body is a complex
Built of bones and stitched together by muscles
A system which allows me to breathe
Fresh air in, bad air out
An industry of carpentry
Always building new things from the inside out.

My body will not be silenced
Should it be shut down
I will ascend and rise against
The violence that tries to oppress me.
It recognizes the winds and rain waging inside
And while I am not a hurricane
I live within the boundaries
Of a beautiful storm.

I remember
A time
When all I desired
Was to fit in
Unharmed and unscathed.
But I never really fit the image
Or the clothing they tried to stuff me in
I carried a little extra skin
Creating every curve.
There was a time
When these curves disgusted me
And I did everything in my power
To hide them.
But why hide?
I was made a woman
Beautiful in stature and in knowledge.
So one day
I just said
"**** it."
I wasn't meant to blend in
But to speak out instead.
I am not ashamed of anything
And so I lay it all out for you
Every bit of me lays
Right in front of your beady eyes
*Here I am.

"Hi, my name is Sarah, and I haven't purged in almost four months."
That's what I tell group therapy sessions
Or online support groups
When it comes to my eating disorder.
Even better is when I talk about my cutting
How it's been two years since I gave way to the knife
Plenty of "oohs" and "ahs" and, my personal favorite,
"You're so strong"
Even though I still think about the sensation
Almost every day.

What I really am told
And sometimes even think myself
More frequently than not is
"My name is Sarah
The lying, conniving resident **** of my house"
Or
"My name is Sarah
Fat girl, so pretty if she'd just lose the weight
No longer ******, disappointing her family one day at a time"
"My name is Sarah
Just another basket case, pregnancy scare
One, two, maybe three times
How stupid can she be?"
"My name is Sarah
Child abuse survivor
Or is the appropriate terminology 'victim'?
Isn't she over it yet?"

That voice and the one that calls me
Strong, when the other calls me fat
Passionate, when the other calls me obnoxious
Potential, when the other calls me hopeless
Are constantly at war
Bloodshed is the goal.
Devil versus angel
Compete to be the main influence in my life

While really,
The only thing that I can say for certain is
"My name is Sarah
The human being."
And that is perfectly fine with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is now tomorrow morning.

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.

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.

That cynical sense of humor
That sarcastic disposition
Yet, a certain sadness infects
The "I don't give a ****" attitude
Are you reading me yet?
There's something ironic
Something insane
About how someone who is that insecure
Could be so ridiculously vain.

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.

They say nothing is forever
This too shall pass
I will see you again some day
My love
My support
My wonderful role model
I will see you again.
So as the broken pieces of a picture frame fall around me
I do not cut myself with the broken glass as my feet.
As my stomach twists and turns with my mind
I do not reach down my throat and purge myself of hope and comfort
As the waves of depression crash around my mind
I do not submit myself to their will
I will keep my eyes focused on The Lord
For You are the only constant
In a world of impermanence.

I'm sorry that you're way too good for me
You're like a New York City boutique
And I might as well be Kmart
You could have anyone
So why would you choose me?
I'm not blonde, I'm not skinny
And I'm no princess at all
Yet, you treat me like one
You are perfect for me
And I'm so wrong for you
I can't help but think
That this is all too good to be true
We are a cliche dream
A fairytale in the making
If I am Cinderella
I hope the clock stays at 11:59
Forever.

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

I never wanted you around
With your ashy olive-colored skin
Or the way your hair stuck to your forehead
With particles of sweat that bound it to your face
Or your muddy brown eyes
That hunted me down as though I was prey
And you were a dog on the prowl.

I never wanted you to say
That all of this was "just a game"
I was only seven years old and my childhood disappeared before my eyes
Who are you to steal that untouched innocence from my slim finger tips
Like sand, it slipped through my hands

I never wanted to believe
That I was just some textbook ****** assault victim
With a case of PTSD and low self esteem
That could literally **** anybody
It almost killed me
I became a statistic at best

I never wanted to talk about it
It took every ounce of strength that I could muster up in my small frame even though I was slightly overweight
At fourteen, seven and a half years later
I blurted out every detail of every heinous thing you had done to me
They said it would be empowering to talk about it
But it was horrible and dehumanizing at the time.

I never wanted to blame myself
Because I had the perfect situation after I spoke out
Everyone believed me, which is heaven compared to a lot of people I know
Who talked about this awful and unspeakable act and were ridiculed and spat at
By people they were supposed to be able to trust.
It is like facing abuse twice

I never wanted to admit
That you contributed to my bulimia and mental illness and promiscuity
That had you not hurt me
Maybe I could have been okay.
That I was so weak and unbalanced because of you
So I turned to everything else.

Now, many other girls experience the same torture daily
Sometimes this results in an unwanted love child
And I tend to find the word "love child" a bit ironic
Because this is the ultimate act of hate.

How can Rick ******* then turn around and tell us
That **** victims should make the best of a bad situation?
How can Cee Lo then tweet that
**** is not **** if the victim is unconscious?
How can so many bigoted men and republicans
Use alcohol to excuse assaulters and condemn survivors?

Why do we continue to tolerate this
And all of the ******* laws that still exist in 31 states
That allow a ****** to still claim custody of their children?

I have a secret for you
The child, the mother, the wife, the son, the daughter, the sister
Every victim, every survivor, everywhere
Regardless of whether they were drunk, sober
Man, woman, gay, straight, trans, or bisexual
Black, white, yellow or blue
*They never wanted to, either.

My secret
Will it jump out of me
Before I can catch it with cupped hands
And rock it back to sleep?
All I want to do
Is tell them
Tell everyone I love
Everyone who I so desperately want to accept me
That I like girls
And I like boys
But somehow the two seem to
Invalidate each other.
I will be ostracized in the conservative community
Of my small republican county
As well as in my very Presbyterian church and home.
And yet,
I would not be accepted fully among the queer community.
Sometimes I wonder
Why don't I just make my life easier
And ignore my feelings for girls?
I wish it was truly that easy.
It struggles and squirms in my body
As if to scream
"Get me out of here!"
If only coming out
Was actually an option.
But at this current moment
In my household
In my school
It is not.
So I guess I will continue to be
Bisexual, pansexual
Whatever the hell I am
In the comforts of my bedroom.

For two people
Who have dealt with
Eating disorders
We talk about food
More than anyone
I have ever met.

I said goodbye to the tree that afternoon
The one I sat always sat by as a child.
As I began walking away.
I knew that night I had no intentions of waking up
The next morning
If the knife or the pills had their way with me
It was like a potent *******.

I said goodbye to my phone
As I turned it off
And stuffed it under my bed.
Maybe no one would find me, call me
And everything would turn out fine.
No one has to hurt anymore
Isn't that the point of this endeavor?

I said goodbye to my family and friends
Through chicken scratch on a bright yellow post-it note.
"Mom, I love you" really meant
Mom, you are my hero
Even if you have made a lot of mistakes
You are the gentlest person I have ever met
I can never repay you for loving me unconditionally.
Please, keep loving me even as I lay beneath the dirt.

"Daddy, I love you" really meant
Daddy, I just want you to think I am enough.
I just want to feel like you love me no matter how I look.
I just want to be Daddy's girl
That's all I have ever wanted to be.
Please, don't be mad at me.

"Heather, I love you" really meant
Heath, when you find me
And you probably will, because you're always sneaking into my room
Don't look at me this way
So decaying and lifeless and ugly
Even though I have never been as pretty as you
None of this is your fault at all
Please, don't hate me or be ashamed of me.

I said goodbye to you all
But goodbye could never say enough.
No words that I could string together
From any of the twenty-six letters in the English language
Would ever explain even the very beginning
Of how my life disintegrated within my hands
Like sand, it dissipated into the air
And became one with the wind.

I said goodbye to myself
For I no longer knew who I was
Clearly, I was meant to lose myself along the way
Because once I awoke, ****** and cut up
I decided a change must be made.
My life became a work in progress
And while I have been far from perfect
I am improving
And that is all I can expect of myself.

I said goodbye to suicide notes
Written in pages of books
My pen was my dagger
That furiously cut away at the paper beneath its blade.

I said goodbye to the pills, the knives, the abuse
And eventually, although it took another year and a half,
To the bulimia that held my life captive during the lag time.

Never again will I attempt to say goodbye to this life
That left scars on my hands and wrists
And blisters on my heart and soul.
Never again will I attempt to check out
Because I choose to live by saying
"Hello."

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.

Living in twofold
Is not all it's cracked up to be.
Having the life ****** out of you
Becomes the daily
Because you are so busy
Trying to hide your secret from the world.
Whatever it may be,
It is destroying your body.
You can barely walk
Barely stand
Barely breathe without terrible pain.
The stress has never crippled you so much before.
You can't go on like this
Yet there is nothing that can stop it.
So two options are laid out before you
Either defuse the fire
Or go up in flames.
Now there's a riddle for you
To spend the rest of your life trying to solve.

I've been hurting recently
In every way imaginable.
My heart shatters within my chest
And the pieces splinter painfully.
My mind has been pushed until
It can take no more.
It does not want to be strong anymore
How long will it take
Before it finally breaks?
My hands, they shake violently
I cannot keep them still.
My legs lug themselves along
As my feet become cinderblocks without a cause.
My core meets its volatile friend, Anxiety
Shooting knives into my stomach
With every movement.
She makes my breathing shallow
And saturates my body
In buckets of sweat.
Why must this happen now?
It's ******* the life from me
Day by day
Minute by minute
Every second
I cannot talk
I cannot move
I cannot *be.