I didn't want to show you
I didn't want you to try
I can stare at the ceiling for hours
And feel like minutes have gone by
You aren't much to look at
Baby neither am I
I didn't want you to try
I really didn't want you to try

Baby can't you see
It isn't you it's just the lethargy
I can't move my limbs but I can
Move my lips
And I can talk to you
I wanna talk to you

-E (c) 2017

They've given me a new drug that helps me sleep
Because I only got a couple hours this week
My best friend says I shouldn't rely on the dope but
Truly it's the only thing that gives me hope
And I'm sorry if I look like I've been falling apart
But last night I got too drunk at my old boyfriends apartment
And we only broke up cause he's an *******
And I can't take constant annoying harassment
To be honest I'd rather be on my own
By they say a home alone isn't a ******* home

-E (c) 2017

What's the point in leaving if I wasn't even there in the first place
I don't like loud spaces, I don't like feeling like I can't look someone in they eye because I know that they will judge me and talk about me as if I'm not present
Strangers touch me and I feel like I've been stripped down to my skeleton
They make a joke because they saw me staring into space
They knew I was present
They knew I wasn't even there
What's the point in leaving if I wasn't even there in the first place

-E (c) 2017

She whips me down
And drags me round
She roars like thunder
And my freedom is plunder
She spits and seethes
And still nothing pleases

And so I’ll leave
For she will not relieve
The torrid strain I am under
In this oh so monstrous dismal blunder
I’ll succumb to a sweet sleep
And I know you won’t weep
As I end my stay
Besides, who could dismay?

I found myself hugging my closet this morning
I got up, walked over to her, stood in front of her and stuck my hands between some things hanging,
Put my cheek against the cold plastic of the hangers, and it felt right

Now this sounds strange
But something became quite clear to me when I felt like my closet was hugging back
It's not the things you wear, it's how you wear them
My closet loves me because I wear my clothes freely
I never wore them to please anyone else
That's why when he told me he wanted me to wear something else I said, "No."
Because my fashion is a part of me and it has been
Whether I was in the fourth grade, wearing my lily pad skort, pink Mary Janes and a neon green top
Or in college,
Unapologetically sporting my baggy white tee, ripped jeans, Birkenstocks and socks
I will not submit to you

My clothes love me back because I am not afraid
My closet hugs me back because she knows that I will never again let a man tell me
"That's ugly."
My fashion is my power.
Let it ring from every tower, you will not tell me what I can put on this body ever again
My body is my temple, and it was not built on your land so you can
Shove it

-E (c) 2017

i see myself:

a
little tiny girl,
tear stained, broken..
.
pressed up against a glass
window that some might
call
a mirror,

and
submerged like a castle
in a fish tank, i
watch the way
that
little me swims
above
pretty little rainbow beads
and
picks at affection,
somehow
dropped from
the sky..
.

its
blue, pink, and
green;
and
there's a face in the clouds:

like rain, i
cry. looking down at
what once was..
.

and i remember why
that little girl
died.

I freeze
My smile says, you got me again but inside, your words have gutted me,
Like walking into a room full of Simon Cowells,
And losing my voice
Yes, in fact
You took my voice from me
This game we play where we both bear our fangs for alpha-female in our sick, twisted trio
But the difference is this
I do not make the haughty stabs that you inflict upon others
Flicking your tongue like a silver blade, and I, your waiting victim,
Am here, readily awaiting your torture because I don't know how to make other friends
So I let the violence continue
Maybe my ex was right about you
Maybe you're the reason why if it weren't for my hemophobia, my wrists I would slice,
But pills suffice
My smile says, you got me again.

-E (c) 2017

A woman of substance

I'm sceptical of the Dutch
One of them stole my beloved
He was a painter
Made her beautiful on canvas
And she fell in love
I wrote a poem on a torn
Piece of paper-
And I’m not a Lutheran-
Nailed it on her door
The usual stuff of the aching heart
The painter got arthritis
In his hands  
Could not hold a paint brush
She sent him to nursing home
And now she smiles at me

I'm young.
I'm scarred.
I'm traumatized.
So why do I want *that?