I wanted to write a poem about you
But I forgot how to say your name.
You see, it is slashed into my skin
By your razor sharp claws
But it hides itself inside the **** in my tongue
Twisting itself into knots
I fear the sound of your name out loud
Because someone might hear it
It might hurt someone who knows you
It might hurt my friend who dates you
She will claim that she loves the way your name billows out of her mouth
Smoke from a freshly rolled cigarette
Until she discovers it is laced with poison
Each time she takes a drag
It chokes me
I stand downwind, still
Eager to take you into my body
That's why I still feel your kiss sometimes
From before your hands carved a crucifix into my wooden flesh
My body became a dead tree
It loves lurking in dense corners
Searching for sunlight
I can't feel anyone's touch
Without believing I will be harmed, now
But I keep searching for love in dark places
I keep reaching for hands that don't look like yours
My tongue keeps saying the names of other people
But it cannot vocalize the phonetics behind each letter
Four letters
One syllable
Zach.
I said it, and it feels
Like taking back my own body
I write it, and it looks
Like I could call you Hell
Call you evil
Call you vicious
Sometimes I wish you were any of those things
Then maybe people would believe me
In reality,
You're just someone else
With a case of whipping tongue.

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.

Please do not tell me you understand
Until you have been molested on one occasion
And assaulted on another
By people you trusted dearly.

Please do not tell me you have felt my pain
If you have not lost six people whom you loved
Over the course of a year
Not to mention
Nearly every one was a sudden loss
And you never even got to say goodbye.

Please do not say that you get it
If you have never seen your family and best friends
Grapple with questions that you cannot answer
And you are hurting too
But you are forced into this limbo
Where you cannot grieve aloud.

Please do not say you have been sad like me
Because you have never been depressed.
You have never taken a knife to your dense skin
Or a handful of pills at the worst of it.
I feel better now
But mental illness does not simply dissipate in a few years.

Please don't tell me that you have felt uncomfortable with your body too
You are beautiful and thin
And I understand that is no reason not to have insecurities
But unless you have made yourself throw up
Multiple times a day
And people did not believe you when you finally had the courage to say
"I have an eating disorder"
You can never get it.

Please don't tell me I can just diet if I try hard enough
It isn't that easy.
Bulimia is not merely about weight
But about self-image, control
And a toxic relationship with food.
Not to mention
My parents did everything in their power
To avoid dealing with my problem.
Have you ever felt that way?

Please, don't speak
I'll tell you my story.
Please,
Just listen.

How am I supposed to let you go?
There's so much I should have said
So much I should have done
Had we remained close
Could I have kept you around?

Had I held your hand through all of this
Had I tried to keep you away
From the things that destroyed you
Had I helped you when I knew
Had I tried to get back in touch
Would things have ended differently?

I hate the possibility that maybe they could have.
I hate feeling that even if it was a tiny , almost invisible
Chance that I could have saved you
That I didn't.

Part of me remembers
That while maybe I should have protected you
I was battling my demons simultaneously.
It kills me that I was able to overcome mine
That I still have the option to fight
And you don't.

Why is saying goodbye
So outside of the realm of human comfort?
Is it even okay to move on?
If I could say one thing to you
I would beg and plead
"Please don't go."

Negatives*

"You want to be a big kid, don't you?"
I was seven
You were fourteen.
Why would you think that's okay
To say to someone as vulnerable as me?

"Can you just whining about it?
It's happened to you, it's happened to others
Move on."
You were my first love
How can you do this to me?
You were supposed
To love, and cherish, and support me
So what gives you the right
To make snide remarks about my abuse?

"You would have locked him up for life?
He was a kid too.
It would be a little drastic to make him pay
For that mistake forever."
How the hell can you say that?
You were molested too
And you have the gaul to try to convince me
Not to press charges?
Now I'll be the one paying for it
Forever.

"You're only fun when you're *****."
You assaulted me
Even if I can barely bring myself to believe it.
You made my life hell
And wouldn't let up
Your psychological grip on me.
I was *grieving
And you took advantage of me.
*******, you *******.

"If you really cared
You would have told someone sooner.
All you do is cause drama."
You were supposed to be my friend
And you begged me to know what happened.
I was just trying to protect her
When I told her to stay away.

"All guys do that.
It doesn't make it right
But you just feel this way because you regret it."
You had always been there for me
And I know you didn't mean to hurt me
By saying this.
It minimized what happened
And made me ashamed to tell other people
Because I was afraid I was being over dramatic.

Positives

"I'll keep him away from you.
He makes me sick to my stomach."
You are more than just my manager
You treat me like your daughter.
When he came back to work
You protected me
And I can never thank you enough for that.

"You are not overreacting!
I can't believe you are as strong as you are."
As my best friend
I would expect nothing less
Than for you to be there for me through all of it.
And yet, hearing that
Took a huge load off of my already breaking back.

"We love you no matter what
It is your decision about pressing charges."
Although I never went through with it,
I know you would have been my biggest supporters.
I do not know why
My second assault has yet to come to your attention.
Mom and dad,
We haven't always gotten along
But this was one situation in which
I could not have had better parents
And I cannot thank you enough.

"I will go to the ends of the Earth to help you."
You are a guidance counselor
And it may be your job to do this
But it made me feel like everything I felt
Was validated.
It made me feel like I had a hero
On my side.

To all of the negatives:
Get out of my life.
To all of the positives:
I can never show you
How much I appreciate
Everything you have done.

My prayer looks like I stutter in front of the dinner table
My prayer looks like thankyouforthisfoodamen
My prayer looks like gets nervous talking in front of people
My prayer looks like two-faced ***** who can't be trusted
My prayer looks like a God I've been taught not to relate to
My prayer looks like I'm cherry picking the Bible
My prayer looks like justifying my queerness
My prayer looks like I'll die trying
My prayer looks like why is my theology less legitimate than yours?
My prayer looks like wound in the flesh
Looks like begging God to stop boys from abusing me
Looks like begging God to strengthen the tendons in my wrist so I can fight back next time
Looks like begging God to put an end to the next times
My prayer looks like plucking fists out of my father's mouth
My prayer looks like domestic violence is not just physical
My prayer looks like ****** violence is not just ****
My prayer looks like I want to call the boy who assaulted me a ******
My prayer looks like I want a better word for what he did to me
My prayer looks like I wish he hurt me and left cuts and bruises
My prayer looks like maybe then, they would have believed me
My prayer looks trying to explain **** culture to my daddy
My prayer looks like fighting back tears when he says victim blaming is over exaggerated
My prayer looks like fighting back tears when his next sentence is how women need to be more careful instead
My prayer looks like forgetting how to pray
My prayer looks like losing my faith
My prayer looks like mourning for what I have lost
My prayer looks like fearing my father
My prayer looks like loving my father
My prayer looks like I just want someone to believe me
My prayer looks like I've only been taught to be sorry
My prayer looks like it is not my fault anymore
My prayer has been decorated in doilies and daffodils
My prayer is told it's just a little girl, to sit down
My prayer has been told it won't change anything
My prayer holds a loaded gun
My prayer can change the world
My prayer isn't sorry anymore
My prayer isn't sorry.

Addiction.
no one quite knows
how to define it.
for one in the throws of this.
is it Beautiful
or is it Vile?
Selfless
or is it Vain?
one can only speculate.

Recovery.**
another riddle
with a hint of ambiguity
that a person can only
hope to determine the meaning of.
Painful
or Freeing?
Pointless
or Meaningful?
i can never tell
if it is only here for a season
and leaves just as easily.
just as swiftly.

as for now
i am still a prisoner, held captive
to this paradox.

How provocative can I get?
People always tell me
My brain and my mouth don't connect.
I have a good head on my shoulders
Or so they think
And an unlucky case of
"Foot-in-mouth" syndrome.

The awkward first impressions are the best.
I'm pretty good with adults
As long as they can hold a conversation with me
Long enough to break the ten foot-thick ice.

But oh, I'm smart
That's what they call it now?
******* my life up
Throwing everything that has been given to me away
For a boy, a dream, a utopia?
That's smart?
I think not.

Sexcapades never go so swimmingly
With men ranging in age
A mouth like a cannon on me
Spewing curse words around authoritative figures
Never leaving anything to imagination
Being too blunt
Speaking first, thinking later?

They call me provocative
As if it is a problem.
Well, if I'm a problem
Then count me in.

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.

PTSD is not something you get over.
It is when soldiers get tired of hearing their own shots fire
Into a purple horizon of nothingness.
It is when assault victims are scared of becoming a statistic
And their brokenness is suffocating
It is when fear compels the mind to change
And it willingly obliges.
PTSD is when the darkness of human nature becomes evident
It is when it's stronghold is suddenly
More prominent than the beauty in the world
It's brash fingers create a vacuum
That ***** the sanity from your mind
Until you wake up in the middle of the night screaming
"Don't shoot me!"
"Don't **** her!"
You see him and now he is with your little sister
Taking her into his Jeep
While you stand there, watching
******* because you can do nothing about it.
This has not happened
And probably never will
But you are crippled by paralyzing bouts of anxiety and guilt and fear
From which your mind cannot console you
You can no longer hide the loss
That this event, this person, this illness
Has placed strategically within you.
It is when you will do anything to get these memories to stop playing on repeat
An endless loop maybe ended by alcohol
Check
Cutting
Check.
Promiscuity
Check
Anything that will eliminate cycle of not knowing
Of reliving
If only for a short time
Even pretending you believe in God
Because it makes it seem like there is a reason for this confusion
But then you begin to question why God would do this to his child
So you digress into darkness once again
Left feeling unsure.
PTSD is when you stop repressing memories
And they come back so forcefully that they knock you to the ground
Leaving you bruised and ******
Leaving you lost.
PTSD is different from other sicknesses
Because you do not feel sick
You feel there
Like you are in his bed again
And his room smells like mushrooms
That is actually a field of grenades
Waiting to explode throughout your small body
You remember the tone of his words
Slipping from his lips as though they are snakes
Strangling me, leaving breath unable to escape
This is not sick
As you feel no symptoms
But an altered state of consciousness
You do not even realize you are disconnecting as it happens
But this is Hell
This is war
You are broken
And the worst part about it
Is that you must understand your triggers
Your dissociations
Before you can get better.

Push yourself too hard
And it becomes counterproductive.
From motivation
To deterioration.
From passion
To pain.
Maybe I'm planning my own downfall.
If this is it,
Just let me go already.

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.

Do you see them?
The puzzle pieces of my life
Scattered on the ground
Sharp enough to break the shallow skin
Of a heart destroyed.

Why am I so broken?
The worst part is feeling helpless
Like matter what I do
Destruction seems to follow.

Am I out of my mind?
My old friends have all dissipated
Like fog in the evening.

Did they forget me?
My mind and body are faltering.

Is it too late to pretend this isn't real?

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.

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

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

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

I see your tears an I absorb them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your life is not your own anymore.

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.

My life is my behind me
And I'm looking in a mirror
A year passed by
But did I do enough?

Circumstantially, my life became hell
Death and tragedy were glaring me in the face
And yet, my response was
"Bring it on, *******."

They did
And for a short time
It seemed they were winning.
I was assaulted and lost friends
Due to events surrounding it.
I lost loved ones
To death's spearhead.

I was sad
I was lonely
I was anxious
And I had every right to be.

An eating disorder had drawn me in
And lured me with his lies.
The end seemed to be approaching
As my abuser came back to work
And I could not even speak of
What he did to me.

However,
The fact that I could choose
Whether or not to care empowered me.
I stopped giving him what he wanted:
Control.
I took that back
And it feels spectacular.

My bulimia is almost gone
One more month until I reach remission.
This was done because I made a choice
A choice to stop the madness
That controlled my life
I took that back
And it feels delightful.

As for the tragic passings
They linger with me still.
They remain like a bad taste in my mouth
But I don't want to spit them out.
I remember each individual
As more than a tragedy, but a person
I remember them in life
Rather than in death.
I finally can control my memories that I replay.
I took that back
And it feels incredible.

So, in reflection
I took my life back
And it couldn't feel better.

I'm tired of losing control
I'm exhausted from spinning my wheels
And always getting stuck in the mud
I'm getting sick from looking at pictures
From reading every email exchange
That I know
Can never happen again.
So why didn't I appreciate them
When they did?
I cannot bring myself to accept that
You are gone.
And I am brought to my knees
With how regretful I am
Of the fact that I never appreciated you
When I had the chance.

How to have a healthy relationship with your razor
A guide, for the ex-cutter:
First, take her cover off
Let her slide out of that shear plastic coating
Then, just look at her for a few seconds
Stare at the shiny pieces of metal that line her core
But also look at the things that aren't so pretty
Like the gooey gel that surrounds her plastic parts
She'll like that you take the time to notice each and every one of her blades
As well as all of her.
Don't touch the sharp parts though
As those used to have a hold on you.
See, your relationship used to be very manipulative and abusive
When you first met
You were vulnerable
And she played off of that like she was a huntress
While you were clearly her prey.
She would lure you in with the luster of her kiss
How it felt when the metal dug into your pasty skin
And almost instantly, you would regret the sensation
The momentary high that you got
From your evil queen
Your sweet escape.
You would throw her away
The garbage became her home
But there were many like her
And like the devil, she kept appearing
In her many manifestations.
Plus, you needed her for housekeeping reasons
To keep you looking your best
And your sister and mother kept her around, too.
They really liked her
And she never harmed them the way she harmed me.
You really couldn't live without her
But learning to live with her
So you two shared mutual love and respect
Is an uphill battle.
Why did I want to be with someone like that?
Therapists blamed in on the fact that some man
Had unjustly touched me at seven
And sleeping with a knife under my pillow
(Her close relative)
Could have led me to having a volatile romance with the razor.
Some believe it was my daddy issues
That he had dropped the ball in so many areas of my life
Had he taught me to love myself
And not that I was just a fat, sick ******
I wouldn't need to turn to her sweet bliss.
But now, regardless of why we initially got together
We are in a good place.
I run her up my leg and she touches it
Making it smooth
And then I run my fingers along her work
Loving how it feels to be soft and feminine
She no longer suppresses that side of me
She no longer causes me to be callous
Because I put her in line and said
"Enough is enough!"
She will not take advantage of me anymore
Because I finally value myself enough to ditch
My attachment to her abusive nature.

Don't take things so personally
Don't harm yourself over nothing
Stop thinking
And remember to breathe
My brain rattles off a list of
Therapy terms in times like these

I'm going crazy
For the sake of saving face.
I've never been more insane
I just need to survive, day by day.

But how am I expected to forget you so easily?
He was a beautiful human being
One of the only ones I knew.
Why do the wonderful ones
Have to die first
Or suddenly?

How I am I expected to forget him so easily?
Everything he did to me
Seeing him everyday
Feeling the fear travel up my spine
Into my neck until my head cannot bear it.

So I repeat one more phrase
To myself in the silence
Remember
Remember to forget.

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

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

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

My thoughts encircle my head
An angry loop
A skipping CD
A song stuck on repeat

Vicious spiders
Eat my brain from the inside out
They grow in there
And they expose
My fears, my sadness, my doubts

My body screams for relief
It causes me not to sleep
Because if I do
There is a good chance
I will wake up
And everything will be an unfinished mess
My life is already in shambles.

My emotions
May as well be a noose
Entangling thoughts
Creating feelings
That eventually lead to actions
Soon enough
They all die too.

My thoughts encircle my head
An angry loop
A skipping CD
A song stuck on repeat

Song stuck on repeat
Stuck on repeat
On repeat
Repeat
Epeat
Peat
Eat
At
T

When your body shoots an earthquake through mine
You ask if I have daddy problems
I guess I am weaker than what you are used to
I have been the trigger on this gun
Playing Russian roulette with my own mind
Trying to keep a steady hand
But holding on so tightly
That the muscles in my wrist are plucked out
One by one, like strings on a guitar
See, you are used to *******
Pretty girls with scars carved on their chests
Not on their faces
Either way
It is wood all the same.
I don't answer your question
I merely make my body stiffer
Fearful that my own instincts
Might burn a hole in your skin
I have no safety on what I went through when I was younger
Between the bullets of my father's mistakes
And the abundant ammunition of the taste
Of my older cousin's skin
My body is now my weapon of choice
After being someone else's hostage
**** me back into your favorite position
And I will fire
Isn't it funny how my body becomes a gun again?
I work perfectly
Until the recoil knocks me to my knees
Before somebody new
I never knew shooting myself could make me numb
I always felt everything
Do I feel alive again?
I seem to keep missing my target
So I start to rethink my mission
What am I shooting for?

They tell you to eat from the hand that hits you
The particles of your soft cheek smashing through the atmosphere
The first time I felt this in public
I was fifteen
Two drunk men leaned over the counter
At my first job, they told me explicitly
How they would twist and contort my body
To please their selfish desires.
Room full of customers and coworkers
Managers who watched this happen
And still told me I was moving too slowly
These men wanted me to move faster, too
Wrap my hips around their waste
Submit to the items they wanted to spank me with
But I couldn't move fast enough
I went to the back of the store and cried.

They tell you to eat from the hand that hits you
Growing up I knew a girl
Whose boyfriend repeatedly came back for her
Thrusting his dark matter into her bones
Even when she said no
Throwing her around like a rag doll
Until she couldn't take it anymore
And decided to try throwing herself off a bridge instead
Everyone at school called her crazy
Even though she was being gutted of her existence
From the inside out.
Society said
All she was good for was ******* and blowing smoke
That she let a man break her body in half
And define exactly who she was.

They tell you to eat from the hand that hits you
You look into yourself and wonder
Why you can't see the light that used make your eyes lanterns.
We're taught that we must have perfectly chiseled bodies
To be welcome mats for men to slap their stamp of approval
Yet if they walk all over you
You are nothing.
When you're thirteen
Your father tells to stop dressing like a ****
He doesn't consider
That no matter how you dress
Men will look at you like you're a buffet
Ready to eaten.
When you're sixteen
Someone defines your worth by the absence of your virginity
They don't consider
That you someone took your innocence long before you made the conscious choice
To let someone else see the crevices of your body and spirit.
When you're twenty
Your friend tells you that you were asking for it
Because you got carried away with a drink in hand
That alcohol didn't make them do what they did
This is sexism
Because no one ever asks him "what were you wearing?"

They tell you to eat from the hand that hits you
Because we're teaching our girls wrong
Because we're not teaching our boys at all
These girls become women who believe their worth
Hinges on their ****** experience
Hinges on their beauty
Hinges on some man
They're socially designed to fall in love with.
They're told that he's responsible for holding the door for them
But if he enters her body with her consent
That's her responsibility
When will we stop teaching women
That they should expect to be violated
That they should expect to be silenced
That they need to be protected
Because the same men who believe they can **** a woman
And get away with it
Are the same ones who want to keep them
Safe and sound.

I loved you the way
Samson loved Delilah
Foolishly.
I loved you the way
Aphrodite loved Adonis
Sensually.
I loved you fatally
Lustrously
Beautifully
Brokenly.
I loved you the way
A rose loves it's thorn
Too tender to the touch.
I loved you the way
I loved no one else
And that was far too much.

Did you know
You would be my only
Saving grace?

Scared.
If you rearrange the letters
You get
Sacred.*
Maybe fear is supposed to be something serene
Perhaps it is pure
So why am I so scared of sacred things?
A church
A bed
A school
All are supposed to be set apart
All are supposed to be safe
But I learned unspeakable things
In the back rooms of these places
That no one wants to discuss.
I am scared of sacred things
For all of these have been defiled for me
As a man has taken it upon himself
To break my hands and
To play God
To use me as his ****** Mary
I wish I understood virginity
As my innocence was stolen from me at seven years old
I am scared of sacred things
I bled from the inside out
I was no longer white washed
Blood and bile encased my soul
And a black hole swallowed it whole.
I am scared of sacred things
He left me there and knew that should I blame him
My religion would beg of me to forgive his sins
So I never did
Instead I blamed myself.
I only existed under heavy sheets
Only let myself feel in dark places.
I am scared of sacred things
White dresses
Fairy tale weddings
Boys who promise to love you
Men who lie about love
Monsters who don't know what love is
In the first place.

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.

It is really easy
To fall apart at the seams.
Have every stitch gradually come undone
Each piece of fabric falls out of place accordingly
It takes only the simplest of minds
To see the upholstery when its edges start to fray.
But you, darling, you were seamless
I never knew your face would soon crack
Before you became part of the earth's dense matter
The silk of your skin had been ripped apart from the inside out
Fresh blood stains the linen
They sew you back together
In textile the shape of a coffin
They get the measurements exactly right, love
The width of your hips
The length, from the first particle of a brown strand of your mop of hair
To the last atom of your toenail
I never thought depression would look this fashionable
If anyone could bring it back in style
It would be you
I never meant to leave you
Had I seen your unraveling
I would have taken my needle and thimble
Woven you into the stitch of my pocket
Taken you to my home
Though you remain in dreams
When the night is over
You must go back to your home
Home to the ground in which each nymph attends
To the beauty of your life
Because even in death
You are seamless, my dear
You are perfect
You are gone.

October
Body's cold,
And I'm shaking.
A year clean of cutting
Is a beautiful thing.
But when it comes to the rest of the world
Has it just stopped spinning?
I am lost, with no direction.

November
I find myself grasping at straws.
I revisit the practice of purging
And I do it well.
Not only do I make myself *****
But I starve myself too.
Only, they don't know
I've been using it to my advantage
For years.

December
A teacher discovers my eating disorder
So what can I do but confess?
It has been my lifeline
But I will not lie for it
At least, not yet.
But that doesn't mean I'll stop.

My mental state weakens
And I see the slits of light through my shade.
That's all I can get
Since the dreaded events of this past September.

January
The bitter cold sends a shock through my skin
The sky is some muted shade of grey
The air is icy like my soul.

I try to push past it,
Try to let the sun reach me
But it won't
It can't.
Does this month ever end?

February
Still as hostile as its predecessor
But three days shorter.
I look through the crack of my window
Trying to embrace the light.
I get so bored so easily
As winter rages on.

How can I get through this sleet storm?
Pieces of hail, like little bullets, pierce my skin
I want to run for shelter
To the one thing that smells familiar.
A knife, a finger in my throat,
But I hold on just a little bit longer.
The only relief I allow myself
Is a drag from a cigarette
But it is still too cold for that.

March
The dead begins to find its life
Small specks of green begin to show themselves.
The air begins to rise
And I can go outside again.
But for the first fifteen days
The temperature is less than inviting.

March is also a marker.

It's been six months since God gained an angel
Six months since my body was violated again
Six months since that brutal September
That broken, sickly month
That changed my life.

April
Oh, how I love you
But I could do without your rainy days.
Even though things are looking up
I am looking down a sewage drain
Or over the edge of a balcony

Will I fall off?
Will I jump?
Will I be pushed too far?
No one can say for sure.

May
I always thought this was the perfect time of year
If I ever have children
I hope at least one of them is born during this month.

School's almost out
Senior year is on the horizon
College* is just over the mountain.
Yet my fear for the future prevails.
While my anticipation to get out of here is extreme,
I wish I could know
Who I will become
And if this ailment will leave my spirit alone.

June
Insanity plagues the dainty first month of summer
Whether it be
Finals, graduation parties, or day trips
The insanity in my mind is always unrelenting.

July
The blistering heat
Keeps me mostly indoors
Between work and vacation
I barely have time to breathe in
The suffocating density
Of the nearing 100 degree summer air.

Yet, there is still no one around
No one who's there for me
Who the hell cares?
It's summer
Which gives them a new excuse
To forget about my existence.

August
The birthday blues catch me by the throat
Everyone's gone
And I'm another year older
Big deal.

I smile
Thank them for my presents
Pray to get what I really want:
My license.
Freedom.
A car that I will purchase
After almost two years of working the same
Minimum wage job.
Only time will tell.

But there is nothing special about this birthday.
Multi-colored candles replace my cigarettes
At least they won't give me cancer.

September
School's in session.
But more importantly
It's the anniversary
Of a friend's death
And that vicious attack.
So how do I feel?
How do I cope?
How do I deal?

Honestly, I battle the pain.
Honestly, my memories of both are my only connection.
Honestly, I feel okay.

Why didn't you tell someone sooner?*
They ask
As judgement bleeds from their eyes
And suspicion seeps through their pores.
I shrug
Admit I have absolutely no proof
And continue to look like a fool
To everyone in the room.
A dream sequence this may be
But it's not like it hasn't happened before
And won't happen again.
There's no point in explaining
Reliving that nightmare
Or becoming the victim
When he will get away with it anyway.
I already know how this story ends
And therefore
My lips remain sealed.

She pines for me to come back to her.
Her broad shoulders, loose lips that really do sink my ship every time she speaks
She makes me feel like a Barbie doll on acid
As she critiques every element of my appearance.
My eyes are too wide and inquisitive
My hair isn't quite straight
And my weight?
Forget about it.

Yes, Bulimia has a funny way
Of making me feel like a failure
And yet I still hear her invigorating voice
Every waking moment I live.
It makes my skin come alive
My body jolt
My mind rise and fall
Still dizzy from the high she gives me.

People think
Going to a nutritionist will take care of her
Going on a diet will absolve her presence
Sure, she gets jealous
But that just causes her to inflict more pain upon me.

We have been fighting recently
And I threaten to take care of it for good
By taking a handful of whatever pills I can find to shut her mouth
She dares me, defiantly
"Do it."
One time, I almost did too.
Toxic relationships seem to be the most prominent kind I have

My therapist says she's only around because my ex reinforced every idea she put into my head
And my father did as well.
But frankly, I think she was there long before
Anyone ever encouraged me to skip a meal
Before anyone ever told me that my stomach has too much soft earth within it
To make me lovable
Before anyone made me feel like I wasn't enough.

She has all the influence in my *** life
And kind of reminds me of a jealous ****
For she encourages me to be promiscuous
But then her beady eyes give way
Scrutinizing every inch of my thick body
She whispers the number on the scale in my ear
And so I tell him to turn off the lights
So he won't have to look at the abomination
That stares back at me every day.

As his hands glide over my back
His fingers slide into the grooves between each individual rib
I **** uncomfortably and awkwardly
Because the fear that he is looking at the person I see
Could not scare me more.
She tells me that this fear is rational.

She is the third lover you did not invite into your bed space
But to call her Mia
To grant her personhood seems wrong
It seems sick.

She has a personality of her own
That's for sure
And none of my friends like her.
When she hurts me, I make excuses
"I've got it under control"
I say
"I can fix her."
Sure it's a lie
But I've made a career of lying to myself.

She is not a person
She is a wicked spirit
With a black curtain over any trace of a heart that was once there.
She tries to control me
She tries to become me.

And so,
Over the past month I've gained a few pounds
And while it makes my vice
Bulimia
Angrier than could be
She likes me skinny, she really does.
All that weight
That soft earth previously mentioned
The vessel I carry in my belly
It's all me.
It's all me
And none of her deceit has permeated it's entirety
So it remains
Purely me.

A coping technique
So broad and misunderstood
Is selective memory.
When I see you
I breathe
And try to disconnect myself
From feelings that occur
When I think about what happened.
Then I begin to believe
That none of it is true.
You never assaulted me
We don't have history
I am fine.
My trembling hands become steady
My racing heart softens itself
And becomes a cushion.
I really am okay.
Then, you even have the gaul to talk to me
"Hi Sarah."
All I can do is stutter and spit out is
"Hi."
After all,
I am all smiles from here on out.

I've been told
There is more than enough of me
But will I ever be enough?

Worth is not measured by body mass
In fact,
It seems nearly the opposite.
Worth is measured by how much
You are willing to lose yourself
To conform with society.

You once were a mitten
When you emerged from your mother's womb
Perfectly and intricately woven
With no other quite like you.

You loosely resembled our culture's standards
Based on the actions of your superiors.

As you evolved into a young person
Your peers seem to sneer
So you change your clothes
Change your hair
Maybe then they'll like you
Maybe then you'll be okay

You become a latex glove
Each one the same
Skin tight and molded to fit
Society's overbearing fingers.

You lost yourself
As the words
"Too fat"
"Too ugly"
And
"Worthless"
Penetrated your impressionable mind

And so now
It would seem
That you are perfect for
Our army of robots
One by one
Marching to the media's drum
Same song over and over again

So make the choice
Tell yourself that whether
Your mental and physical densities
Happen to be subpar
Or if they are more than enough
That you are enough
For you.

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.

Can you see my tears?
Welling behind hot and swollen eyes
They push and ****, hoping to escape
But I will not let them.
They are eager little monsters
And it takes all of my strength not to burst.

Can you hear my screams?
In the middle of the night
After drunken decisions
And hungover memories
That's when my flashbacks hit the hardest.
So, I shriek
But it falls on deaf ears
They either are not audible
Or people choose to overlook my
Lonely disposition.

Can you ******* air?
It is creeping and crawling
Drenched in sweat.
Salty and metallic flavors collide inside my mouth
As if some sort of blood began to flow
In one place that I wish it would not.

Can you smell my fear?
They say in dogs it reeks
A certain poignant stink.
In me, what is the scent?
Does it seep through my skin
And secrete out of my pores?
I feel myself trembling
I am not able to escape.

Can you feel my pain?
I want to send you signals
Tell you I am not okay
Or am I okay?
I just want to know
I just want to hold on a little longer
I just want you to notice
Please tell me, just once,
"We can talk if you want to."
And mean it.

They cannot see these
Classic and obvious signs.
They do not know.
They do not care
They do not  **listen.

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

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

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

You knew that.
And you took advantage.

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

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

Thank for nothing, scumbag.

You are washed up
Out-dated
Old-fashioned
Never fashionable.

You treat me like an anomoly
Like my intelligence is withered.
Your goal in life is to make me feel small.

In response, I stand up.
Shout
Scream
Belt
Until you can no longer ignore me
Or put me in my place.

I love when you get that look on your face.
That look of utter
Disgust
Disconcertion
Defeat.
It just goes to show that
I know how to outsmart you.

This is why I need feminism.
Why I have embraced it.
Because everything that makes me "unlady-like"
Makes a man ideal in your eyes
And in society's.

To rid the world of
So-called human beings like you.
While in reality
You are nothing but a sexist.

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.

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.

I cannot continue to compartmentalize
Each aspect of my life
Individually
Separately
In cardboard boxes on wooden shelves
Waiting to be moved into one house.

My existence does not work in cubicles
Sectioning off each area of who I am
One by one
9-5 jobs
Some work overtime.

And yet, I do this so frequently
I continue to store things away
In the back ruins and corners of my mind
They go into storage units.
I guess I picked up the technique after being abused
So I could dissociate from the experience.

But I cannot keep putting on different identity hats
Sarah, the child abuse victim is a black beanie
Sarah, the ex-cutter and ex-bulimic is a red bandana
Sarah with daddy problems is a knit cap
They are all mutually exclusive
They cannot occur at the same time.

So why can't I continue to shelve these things
Intricately and one by one?
Because I am Sarah
The whole person
The individual
The human being who deserves recognition for her progress
Not her vices.

I could never retrieve
The love I had for you
It was lost in flames and fury
That comes with clashing personalities.
I'm sorry you saw
The broken pieces within me
Piercing through my chest.
Families have fallen to bits
And so have I.
So why are you pretending
That you still have a chance
To be my one and only?
Stop acting
Like the broken bones and broken hearts
Mean nothing.
Stop trying
To get me back within your
Manipulative claws.
Yet with every hit we continue to take
Every late night phone call
Every time we meet up
I cannot say no.
With every shot of whiskey
You make
A shot in the dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three years ago, I first came out about what you did to me
You twisted my reality into knots too tight for me to undo
Two months ago, I began to remember more
Like my life was pulling a string,
Drawing my memories out of me
Because repression can only prove effective for you so long
You see, repression can only hide things until they come up
Books, movies, media
You see, repression can only hide things until you experience a similar circumstance once more
When I said no and he kept prying
You see, repression can only hide things until it can't
Until I can't hold back everything in my being
Because I want to cut my tongue out of my own mouth
As my voice begins to fail
As I realize there are men in this world who will not listen to me
As I was so confident and outspoken at one time
And now my meekness is the only suitable way for me to find a husband
I am only eighteen, and yet my voice trails off at the end of sentences
You finished them for me long ago
But my teenage years were considered a grace period
Society now tells me as I enter adulthood
It is my duty to be prim and proper
I am only as worthy as I am pretty and sweet
Because ladies are suppose to talk with the gentleness of flowers
The goodness of a saint
And the purity of the church steeple.
I have already killed those flowers
Hoodwinked the saint
And burnt the church down!
I will raise my fist and scream "*******!" to the world because it tells me I cannot
You make have spoken for me before
But I am taking my voice back
In a world that has every intention of keeping me silent.

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.

Simple man, where'd you go?
You were always there for me
As quintessential as anyone could be
I'm on the edge and I'm missing you tonight

You were my hero
You are my star
Your name will never leave my lips
Thank you, simple angel
I cannot wait to see you again

Lovely man, where'd you fly to?
Everyone adored you
As a mentor, a father, a friend
Could I ask for anyone better?
Why must these things end?

You were my cheerleader
You are my rock
Your name will never leave my lips
Thank you, lovely angel
I cannot wait to see you again

I fall apart so rigidly
And the pieces of my heart
Are causing me to bleed
Do you see us hurting for your return?
I'm sorry for disappointing you
I'm sorry I told her you would be just
Fine

You are my protector
You see me through
Your name will never leave my lips
Thank you, beautiful angel
I cannot wait to see you again

You entered this world so simply
And you went out with a bang