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Jun 12 · 569
I Find My Place
I find my place
In between your arms
In between your tender kisses
And soft whispers of “you’re my everything”
I find my place
In between the warmth of your embrace
And the scent of your neck
And the fierceness of your touch
I find my place lost inside your soul
Feb 2019 · 272
Craving.
Aesthete Flower Feb 2019
In your arms,
I'm in my safe haven.
With you holding me tight,
I have no other craving.

All I need is that one look
that says you're always there,
just like in a romance book.

Your eyes talk to me as the world stands still.
My once empty heart now with love does fill.

Your eyes tell me that
you'll love me every day.
No matter what may come,
you'll be there to stay.

I tell you everything and never with a lie:
all my worldly secrets
and everything that once made me cry.

Everything in my past,
with you I can forget it all.
I know I can trust you
to catch me if I fall.

If only I could explain
how much love I have for you.
Then maybe, just maybe, you'd feel it too.
Jan 2019 · 379
Twilight
Aesthete Flower Jan 2019
There is a boy who only loves me in his sleep.
He kills me every dawn and revived me every twilight with a kiss.
He is both my tormentor and my savior;
A precious dream out of the ashes of my nightmares.


He loves me only in his sleep.
On those brief moments when the night touches the sky.
While I’ve been loving him every moment of every day.
Dec 2018 · 200
x
Aesthete Flower Dec 2018
x
I wrote him poems
he’ll never know about.
Dec 2018 · 378
Some Days
Aesthete Flower Dec 2018
Some days,
I feel everything at once.
Some days,
I feel nothing at all.

I don’t know what’s worse;
Drowning beneath the waves
Or dying from the thirst.
Dec 2018 · 276
27 December 2018
Aesthete Flower Dec 2018
If Jumping into a black hole
would bring back your smile
I would do it
in a heartbeat.
Aug 2017 · 404
Just a Boy
Aesthete Flower Aug 2017
Writing about him was the only thing that kept me sane. I turned him into metaphors and called him everything from a drug to a hurricane. Now that I am healed, I see my writing made him look so exotic and special, but he wasn't. He was just a boy, a boy who I thought was way more.
Aug 2017 · 351
Contradiction
Aesthete Flower Aug 2017
Let's face it, we just aren't meant to be, It's my fault. You are fire and I am water.

You burn brightly. You are energetic, fierce, strong, and warm. You could do anything. You're passionate, a little hot-headed at times, occassionally a bit dangerous, but you can love like no one else.

I am calming. I go with the flow. I'm cool, but not in a good way. My heart is cold. I crash into everything like waves. I engulf things. Anyone that meets me ends up changed for the worse. I am the ocean during a storm. I don't want your fire to be extinguished by my water. So I am letting you go. Get out, before you drown.
Aug 2017 · 405
Eyes
Aesthete Flower Aug 2017
God I loved his eyes. They held the whole ocean. When he was happy, they were a clear, radiant blue. They were usually slightly crinkled around the corners as he laughed or smiled, with no trace of a storm.

But when he was angry? Oh, that was a completely different matter. They were gray, murky, and blazing with rage. Those eyes could burn a whole in your heart.

When he was sad? They turned icy, cold, totally unlike him. There were a few clouds, but mostly just ice. This hurt me the most.

The day he left, they were an odd mix of the three. Those eyes swallowed me whole and I'm still trying to get out of them.
Sep 2016 · 594
One Night.
Aesthete Flower Sep 2016
It's strange how a few short seconds can lead you in a whole new direction,
It alters how you think and act and see your own reflection.
From a single moment on, my life was forever changed,
Like everything I previously knew had suddenly been rearranged.

No one will ever understand just how I felt that day,
But deep within this poem I shall try to convey.
I cannot even begin to illustrate the repulsive person I once knew.
I intend to simply express the horror that I went through.

I was abruptly pinned against the wall of a hard, rough concrete stairwell,
At two AM, in Hempstead, where not a soul was likely to dwell.
Suddenly I was captured, no possible way to escape.
Wondering if I deserved it, if it was truly my fate.

I tried to fly away, but my wings he had broke.
I was like an innocent cow, that he used to **** and poke.
My mind filled with confusion, and his filled with lust.
He took another part of me with each and every ******.

Tears like elegant pearls gracefully danced down my face,
I peered into his soul with a firm look of disgrace.
His cold touch like a vacuum, ******* out the life in me.
His ears were wide open, but he wouldn't hear my plea.

Standing there in the night, so scared, so exposed.
I was covered by a veil of darkness, like satin petals of a rose.
The glowing moon looked down at me, peaking through a massive blanket of stars.
I could touch it; it seemed so close, but it was really oh so far.

Worse than at the doctor; he injected me with filth and dirt.
His intention was deliberate; it was very clear and overt.
It is a bit funny that a piece of **** is all he'll ever be,
And the only thing that he accomplished doing in life-is me.

Sometimes late at night I simply can't fall sleep,
Thinking about how my innocence is no longer mine to keep.
What some can only imagine in their worst possible nightmare,
Is my gruesome reality that can't be undone nor repaired.

I may have the sweetest smile, glowing between my nose and chin.
But only I know the truth about the deep secrets held within.
I may have the prettiest eyes that have seen more than they should,
And have cried more delicate tears than anyone else ever could.

I may have the kindest heart, but that came with a cost.
It has felt the worst of pains, and experienced the greatest loss.
I cannot change the past, an event to which I succumbed.
But I can focus on the present, and change what is to come.

We are all so different, and yet so much the same.
Everyone, in some way or another, will experience a kind of pain.
Everybody has things they wish not to recall,
Into each life some rain must fall.

Scattered throughout our lives, like a friend that is one of a kind,
Dreary days will steadily approach, bad memories trailing behind.
These dark days are necessary, just as important as the rest,
For if we didn't have the worst, we couldn't recognize the best.
This is a true story about a young girl, who trusted the wrong person, and ended up hurt.
Dec 2015 · 488
Your Life is a Lie
Aesthete Flower Dec 2015
Look at me as you lie to my face
You say you’re fine, while you feel like empty space
I look back and think
When I felt my heart sink
I just wish things were different now
Back then I couldn’t see how
We weren’t really friends
You used me until the very end.
You broke my heart
Ripping it apart
I can’t see where I come into your life as a lie.
You did this to your very self
Close this book, honey and put it on the shelf.
Because we’re never going back
I know it was all an act.
I’m done crying
And I’m done trying
I’m moving along
I’m going to be strong
I hope when you hear these words
You’ll know I’m talking to you.
I want you to know,
Your life is a lie.
Dec 2015 · 563
Look
Aesthete Flower Dec 2015
If you look beyond my scars
Far, far away
You might just see the happy girl
That's starting to fade away  
Look back to the past
And notice who I was
You'll notice now that who I am, isn't really me
Look beyond my smile,
Beyond my fading face,
Look beyond the pain,
You might just feel the same  
Look past my tears
And past the fallen red blood
Pass all of that
Then you will have fallen  
Fall where I have fell
Then you might notice to
This life I live is nothing
But a show that I put on for you
Look past my fake smile
Past my fake outside
Then you will see what is wrong
Deep, deep inside
Go down deep enough
You might get to my heart
See the crack in it?
You’ll know what fell apart
Travel though my blood
And look up at my skin
You might just see the scars
That show up deep within  
Look beyond the scars
Beyond my fading arm
Maybe then and only then
Will you understand?
Dec 2015 · 464
Behind the Mirror
Aesthete Flower Dec 2015
Behind the mirror is a girl
Who looks a bit like me?
But I’m a bit more real
And darker inside, see?
She smiles, you would never guess
That inside she cries
And screams and screams in silence
As she lies and lies
Her skin is scared like mine
With deep rivets in her side
The freshest one day old
The hardest one to hide
But no one seems to see
Or hear her as she cries
As each day she withers,
And ever slowly dies…
Dec 2015 · 632
Monster
Aesthete Flower Dec 2015
As she lies bleeding on the floor
She promised she would do no more
Harm to herself she really tried
But even she knew that she had lied
Now she is dying and no one is home
She has no help she is all alone
She wants to get up and fix it all
But there is no one left for her to call
Now as she lies on the floor
She hears everyone calling her a *****
She hears them calling her a cutter ****
Now she wishes she didn’t cut
She wishes the monster would go away
And leave her alone after today
She turns her head towards the mirror
And in it she can see
The monster lying on the floor is her
That monster that she sees, that monster is me.
Dec 2015 · 1.4k
Pain, Cuts, and Scars
Aesthete Flower Dec 2015
The Blood doesn’t pour out anymore,
But the scars still show,
Will these wounds ever heal?
Or be forever sore, the memories a bright glow?
The pain still remains,
The tears still fall,
Rivers of the blood still stain,
My wall remains tall.
A razor blade carved into my hip never my wrist,
Every cut shows pain,
Every scar has a story with a twist
Too many problems to explain
There is nowhere to hide
No reason to even try
Inside I have already died
As I disappear, I break down and cry…
Dec 2015 · 466
Some Call it Crazy
Aesthete Flower Dec 2015
Some call it crazy
Some say it’s sick
But I think its freedom
The pain is fierce but quick
Some say that it’s a sin
Just a little too risqué
But it helps release the pain
That I go through every day
The blade is sharp and cold
As it runs across my skin
Leaving me to ponder
And decide how deep I cut in
The icy chill running down my spine
Makes me feel at ease
I no longer feel like a coward
******* up on everything with every breath I breathe
But some days I want to stop
Feeling like everything’s wrong
Trying to let go of the blade
Sometimes I can but not for long
It’s like I’m addicted to the pain
The feeling taking refuge in every single vein
Leaving me feeling confused and alone
Wiping at the streaked tears that seem to be stained
Burned into my skin forever
Becoming a part that I cannot escape
Sometimes I just want to hurt myself all over
To scream at the top of my lungs until they break
I want to escape from my sadness
It’s taking over me
Why can’t I just rest?
Why won’t it let me be?
I just want to be free…
Jan 2015 · 7.9k
Compliments
Aesthete Flower Jan 2015
My name is baby and you lean out of your car and spit at my feet it lands in a puddle in front of me and I am thirteen and in a suburban neighborhood on the way home from school and I gag and run with my backpack banging like the echo of your words against my back like you are chasing me all the way home.

My name is sweetie and I am fifteen in the city with my friends for the first time and we get a little lost and you follow us for a full block you name my friends honey and darling and why the **** won’t you talk to me!?

My name is nice *** and it’s two in the afternoon and I still feel my heart slam against my ribs because I am under a hundred and fifty pounds and I have weak lungs and weaker fists and while you saunter down the steps, swinging the beer bottle in your fist, my father who is walking behind me shouts, “she’s seventeen, you *******” and maybe I’m near my family but I don’t feel safe until we’re home again.

My name is ******* and my friend is laughing and we just graduated high school and we feel like we are on the brink of something beautiful and terrifying and she is in heels and about to throw up and you name her drunk enough and I have to physically drag you off and when we go home she cries for four hours because a night that should have been just teenage fun almost resulted in the end of her trust of humans.

My name is look at those **** and we are on a college campus and the boy I am with holds onto my waist just a little tighter while you drive up next to me. You name him **** and throw a bottle at his forehead. I can’t stop shaking until long after it’s over. He says “it happens,” and I say, “It shouldn’t.”

My name is **** girl and we are walking down the street. There are ten of you and two of us and you snap a picture when you think we’re not looking. You tell us to either come inside or you’ll **** us on the street. You all laugh like this is funny. This is a compliment. This is just something boys do to get ladies.

My name is little lady, my name is fine miss, my name is ******* and **** your friends, my name is look me in the face, my name is stop frowning, my name is smile, my name is why did you even glance at him you were asking for it, my name is this is a compliment, so I looked it up according to Oxford that’s “a polite expression of praise or admiration”  I think you've got the definitions mixed up.

My name is  pretty thing,  my name takes nice words and make them into bullet wounds.

My name is  nice body  and no girl I know has dated a man who catcalled her.

My name is  great rack  and it turns out that if you shout things at a stranger, they sound like knives more than flowers.

My name is  women like you never know their place  and every single “nice” thing you say to a woman is something you’d never utter to another man because you know that it’s derogatory.

My name is  princess  and  a reason to get put in prison  and if another man spoke to your mother, sister, or girlfriend like that, you’d **** him.

My name is  ****  and every time I hear someone raising their voice I am thirteen again and I don’t know who you are and I’m running home with a weight on my shoulders and your words like a slap to my spine and your laughter hanging in the air.

I am scared and alone and suddenly so small, and compliments are supposed to make me feel good not afraid for my life, compliments are a way of saying  “I care and I appreciate you and I thought you should know it,”  and if you really meant it as a compliment, you’d care about how I would take it - but you don’t mean it like that, you mean it to show off.

You mean it to make us object, you mean it to shove our names into your back pocket so you can tell your friends  “I saw the hottest little thing  yesterday”  and they can be groan about how we just walked away because you don’t see us go home with keys in our fists and all the lights on and we keep 911 dialed just in case and we triple-check our locks and we don’t fall asleep at all because your compliment knocked us over and took who we are

If we are all saying  “it doesn’t sound like a compliment, it sounds like a threat,”  If you really wanted to make us feel good - wouldn't you stop doing it?
Dec 2014 · 504
Untitled
Aesthete Flower Dec 2014
when did
poetry
become a
competition
on
which person
can use
the "enter" key
most
Dec 2014 · 628
Jump.
Aesthete Flower Dec 2014
And I can't cope.
My head is a mess.
There is no hope.
I'm feeling less and less.
My body is going numb now.
My feet slipping from the ledge.
I close my eyes and take a breath.
Count softly to ten.
Clear my head of all wishes for death.
*Then repeat the cycle all over again.
Dec 2014 · 13.3k
Deadbeat.
Aesthete Flower Dec 2014
To the deadbeat I hate to call my father,
I can’t say I hate you, for I would be hating myself.
You walked out of my life when I was four,
Yet came back a decade later asking me to ignore what you put me through,
Asking me to put the past on the highest shelf
Of my metaphorical closet.
I did as you asked, thinking this time around things would be different.
For a year I was overjoyed, you put me before yourself
But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down,
And your façade began to crumble.
Slowly but surely my calls went to voicemail,
My texts were never received,
Our plans rain checked for another day that never came.
I told you it was okay.
I was afraid telling you my feelings would make you runaway.
My anger was taken out on the woman that you hurt
My anger was taken out on the woman you cheated on and abused.
All the horrible things I wanted to say to you, I said to her instead.
My mother, the only parent I truly have, began to call you too.
Everyday, her and I would fight, trying to figure out what to do.
Well I’ve decided I’ve had enough.
You are not a man.
You are unfit to be a father.
You choose your own happiness over mine.
You say I asked for a lot-
When all I wanted was to catch up.
Ten years is a large gap.
I know I’ll see you at family gatherings,
I know I’ll have to deal with you eventually.
But I refuse to be fooled by you again.
You are a coward.
You have three daughters that need their father.
Two of them refer to their step-dad as their only dad.
I unfortunately do not have that luxury for my step father is a lot like you.
They say ignorance is bliss, but that is not the case.
You’ve hurt me too many times and there is no one to blame but myself.
I let you back in.
I listened to your lies.
From now on, I will not hide this problem on that metaphorical shelf.
You are the issue.
I am done with you.
I cannot hate you, as I said before.
Half of me is you.
But half of me is my mother.
The half that is kind and strong and knows when to move on.
I know you’ll want to be a part of my life again, but you’ll be too late.
I thought I needed my father, but I have enough people in my life to fill that role.
You are irrelevant to me.
I do not need you now.
I will not need you later.
Aesthete Flower Dec 2014
To be a mother is not an easy task,
yet you do it proudly everyday no matter what is asked.
You have turned your baby into a beautiful young lady.
You were there for me since the very beginning and saved me countless tears.
The pushy and wise advice you gave will carry me through the years.
With my every mistake or wrongful deed,
you were always there to understand.
You put no limits on my dreams or anything else I wish to do.
You never forget to say you care or that you love me too.
The smile and tears upon your face when I achieve
provides me with more value in my heart then you’d ever believe.
There is no other person that will shape my heart the way you’ve done,
your job finished perfectly for your precious daughters and son.
We have had a rocky road through triumph and catastrophe, hard time and despair,
but not a single moment of time of not having a wonderful mother there.
You have always put in your last with love and my whole life is not enough time for me to repay you.
We always put our disagreements to the side and manage to make it through.
I know that my teen years have driven you crazy but you have guided me with assurance along the way.
You have given me comfort and certainty with every breath I take within the day.
Your little girl is growing up but your baby girl will always remain deep inside me.
There are not enough words that can thank you for everything you have helped me through emotionally and physically.
I have my whole future ahead of me and you are the women that has lead me and guided me towards the proper path.
Thank you for being not only my mom, but my best friend.
Dec 2014 · 525
Just One
Aesthete Flower Dec 2014
They scream louder this time
And there’s nothing you can do
You know you’re everything they ever wanted
And it’s just so clear to you
Pulling music from your iPod drowns their voices out
But you know it won’t stop them from fighting
Just from you hearing their sickening blowout
You think of the days they were so happy
And wonder if it was your fault
Maybe if you had just been beautiful
You’re mom might have tried to halt
Maybe if you got perfect grades
Your dad would have cared for you
Instead of only hurting you
You have tried so long for them to see
All you have ever wanted them to be
What every other family always had
But your cries and pleas have only left you hopeless broken and sad
So once again you open that same drawer you sadly know too well
And grab that magical blade that’ll solve everything for now
You lift up your shirt and put your only true friend against your fair skin
Just one cut
You close your eyes shut
One tear slips down your vulnerable face
Just one tear you let escape
And you see those flashbacks once again
Of the times everyone made sure you knew,
No one will ever want you
So you let that blade break through your skin
And hope to god he’ll forgive your sin
And everything will be okay
At least for one more day.
Dec 2014 · 7.9k
Rape Culture
Aesthete Flower Dec 2014
**** culture is when I was six, and
my brother punched my two front teeth out.
Instead of reprimanding him, my mother
said “What did you do to provoke him?”
When my only defense was my
mother whispering in my ear, “Honey, ignore him.
Don’t rile him up. He just wants a reaction.”

As if it was my sole purpose, the reason
six-year-old me existed,
was to not rile up my brother.
It’s starts when we’re six, and ends
when we grow up assuming the natural state of a man
is a predator, and I must walk on eggshells, as to
not “rile him up.” Right, mom?
**** culture is when through casual dinner conversation,
my father says that women who get ***** are asking for it.
He says, “I see them on the streets of New York City,
with their short skirts and heavy makeup. Asking for it.”

When I used to be my father’s hero but
will he think I was asking for it?
Will he think I deserved it?
Will he hold me accountable or will he hold me,
even though the touch of a man - especially my father’s -
burns as if I were holding the sun in the palm of my hand.
**** culture is you were so ashamed, you thought it would
be easier for your parents to find you dead,
than to say, “Hey mom and dad,”
It was not my fault. I did not ask for it.
I never asked for this attention, I never asked
to be a target, to be weak because I was born with
two X chromosomes, to walk in fear, to always look behind me,
in front of me, next to me, I never asked to be the prey.
I never wanted to spend my life being something
someone feasts upon, a meal for the eternally starved.
I do not want to hear about the way I taste anymore.
I will not let you eat me alive.
**** culture is I should not defend my friend when
an overaggressive frat boy has his hand on her ***,
because standing up for her body “makes me a target.”
Women are afraid to speak up, because
they fear their own lives - but I’d rather take the hit
than live in a culture of silence.
I am told that I will always be the victim, pre-determined
by the DNA in my weaker, softer body.
I have birthing hips, not a fighter’s stance.
I am genetically pre-dispositioned to lose every time.
**** culture is he was probably abused as a child.
When he even has some form of a justification
and all I have are the things that provoked him,
and the scars from his touch are woven of the darkest
and toughest strings, underneath the layer of my skin.
**** culture leaves me finding pieces of him left inside of me.
A bone of his elbow. The cap of his knee.
There is something so daunting in the way that I know it will take
me years to methodically extract him from my body.
And that twinge I will get sometimes in my arm years later?
Proof of the past.
Like a tattoo I did not ask for.
Somehow I am permanently inked.
**** culture is you can’t wear that outfit anymore
without feeling *****, without feeling like
you somehow earned it.
You will feel like you are walking on knives,
every time you wear the shoes
you smashed his nose in with.
Imaginary blood on the bottom of your heels,
thinking, maybe this will heal me.
Those shoes are your freedom,
But the remains of a life long fight.
You will always carry your heart,
your passion, your absolute will to live,
but also the shame and the guilt and the pain.
I saved myself but I still feel like I’m walking on knives.
**** culture is “You were not really *****, you were
one of the lucky ones.”

Because my body was not penetrated by a *****,
but fingers instead, that I should feel lucky.
I should get on my hands and knees and say, thank you.
Thank you for being so kind.
**** culture is “things could have been worse.”
“It’s been a month. Get out of bed.”
“You’ll have to get over this eventually.”
“Don’t let it ruin your life.”
**** culture is he told you that after he touched you,
no one would ever want you again.
And you believed him.
**** culture is telling your daughters not to get *****,
instead of teaching your sons how to treat all women.
That *** is not a right. You are not entitled to this.
The worst possible thing you can call a woman is a
****, a *****, a *****.
The worst possible thing you can call a man is a
*****, a *****, a girl.
The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl.
The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl.
Being a woman is the ultimate rejection,
the ultimate dismissal of strength and power, the
absolute insult.

When I have a daughter,
I will tell her that she is not
an insult.
When I have a daughter, she will know how to fight.
I will look at her like the sun when she comes home
with anger in her fists.
Because we are human beings and we do not
always have to take what we are given.
They all tell her not to fight fire with fire,
but that is only because they are afraid of her flames.
I will teach her the value of the word “no” so that
when she hears it, she will not question it.
Don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love
you have for yourself
and the lengths you go to preserve it.
I am alive because of the fierce love I have
for myself, and because my father taught me
to protect that.
He taught me that sometimes, I have to do
my own bit of saving, pick myself off the
ground and wipe the dirt off my face,
because at the end of the day,
there is only me.
I am alive because my mother taught me
to love myself.
She taught me that I am an enigma - a
mystery, a paradox, an unfinished masterpiece and
I must love myself enough to see how I turn out.
I am alive because even beaten, voiceless, and back
against the wall, I knew there was an ounce of me
worth fighting for.
And for that, I thank my parents.
Instead of teaching my daughter to cover herself up,
I will show her how to be exposed.
Because no is not “convince me”.
No is not “I want it”.
You call me,
“Little lady, pretty girl, beautiful woman.”
But I am not any of these things for you.
**I am exploding light,
my daughter will be exploding light,
and you,
better cover your eyes.

— The End —