your arrogance truly repulses me

What infatuated
her
about him
was the ability
he was blessed with
of touching her
in such a
unique and genuine
manner
that no other living creature
had ever done.
How he could
touch her
and nothing else
ever mattered anymore;
a connection
so beautiful that neither both
could ever explain
in mere words.
How he could touch
her
without him ever
touching
her at all.
That's what
infatuated
her
the most about him.

I sit in my seventh grade health class
*** ed freshman year
My twelfth grade english class
And they talk about ****.
They talk about it like it's an idea
A textbook definition
A rare shadow of society
That doesn't happen to real people
At least not people you know.
They act like there is only one way it happens
It's either a creepy forty year-old man who comes into your bedroom uninvited
Over and over again.
Or, as you grow up,
A boyfriend or date with whom you are, in their opinion,
'Stupid' enough to get drunk with
Passed out on a bed
Your clothes are like weights that anchor your heavy soul.
Maybe my form of abuse was different
As I was in his bed
Which felt more like a coffin full of spiders
As spirits plucked every last bit of life from me
Like guitar strings.
He was not a crusty old man with years of experience molesting children
He was my beloved fourteen year-old cousin
Who had struggled with Aspbergers his whole life.
I had looked up to him regardless.
How could I hate someone who was sick?
How could I hate someone who may or may not have
Understood the severity of what he was doing?
He only molested me once
But it molded my impressionable mind
Like silly putty
From then on I only fell for men
Who had bloodstained hands
And crooked smiles.
It is no wonder that at sixteen
Even after I had dealt with the aftermath of his hurricane
Another boy took advantage of me
And left me seldom sleeping.
It is no wonder that I did not recognize his abuse right away
Or that even though I knew he had wronged me
I would not call it assault.
It is no wonder that instead of press charges or tell my parents
I chose to avoid it
Confiding in my therapist only because I was backed into a corner
Treading quicksand all the while.
The harder you fight, the faster you sink.
After I told about my molestation at fourteen
My parents, although they were extremely supportive,
Told me to keep it quiet
Not to tell everyone.
Their intentions were exceptional
But they made me believe I had something to be ashamed of
When I realized this wasn't the case
I screamed at the top of my lungs
Shouted across the valleys
I was going to be heard
And when I joined forced with others who
Had dealt with similar events
Our ashes piled together
Created a smoke signal so vibrant, so immense
That people had to intentionally avert their eyes in order not to notice it.
We are not the bruises of society
For you to poke and **** at
To see how much our wounds hurt.
We are not for your corrupt education system
Your industry
That you can choose to use for your campaign
Just when our stories are marketable.
These stories do not all look the same
Different chapters
Different pages
Different font styles.
My story is mine
And I do not get to pick and choose
Take my assault off the shelf just when it looks pristine and proper
I live with this everyday
And just as burn victims still have marks that remind them
Of the incident
I still have pieces of me
That struggle with this event on a daily basis.
But I choose to use it in a way that makes me whole.
I cannot change the story
But I can change the ending
And I accept the fact that it will never be a porcelain doll
But it is my battle scar to show as I please
I am a survivor
That is my bragging right
And no one else's shame.

If it doesn't keep you up at night
You probably don't love it enough.

without you
i don't sing in the shower
or stay up to late hours,
i merely sleep it all off
but i sleep without dreaming
and love without meaning
my family knows it too well
my words are hollow
and my thoughts will follow
you took the meaning out of my life
i walk along paths
and ache for the feel of your hand on my back
ive missed you forever, it seems, in this cold-blooded world
i toss coins without wishes
and all intentions seem vicious

you knew me the best
and you left me a mess

oh, why won't the sunshine
come out

can you ***** my finger and measure the dopamine in my veins? collect my teardrops and tell me if i'm going to be okay? can you light up the darkness with magical pills?
decide if i'm too sad to go to school?
can you tell me if i'm just being melodramatic? measure my blood pressure, maybe that will work. write me a prescription for 5 Happy Days in a row, and 3 hugs from Someone I Love.

doctor, doctor
i'm not feeling well today
doctor, doctor
i don't know if i should stay

sadness isn't a sickness, but it's infected my mind. can you write me some antibiotics to get them out in time?

sadness isn't sickness, but i think i might've caught something from doing a little too much of Having No Friends. don't you know how much i've been Laying In Bed?
sadness isn't sickness, but i think i'm coming down

doctor, doctor
i've got a severe case of the I Don't Want To Lives
can you write me a prescription?
make it go away?

doctor, doctor
you've let me down this time
doctor, doctor
i'm not in my prime

can you tell that i'm not healthy?
'cause i don't think you can
oh, sadness isn't sickness,
but it's fatal,
if all goes according to plan

i don't want you back,
but sometimes your name tumbles out when i'm searching for words

i don't want you back,
but sometimes i think of you and it hurts

i don't want you back,
i know we can't be

i don't want you back,
but i want to know you're happy

i don't want you back,
but i don't want you to hurt

no, i don't want you back,
but i don't want you with her

the smell of old alcohol lingers on my sheets, less potent that of your cologne but it still brings back memories of 2. your face is all i can see in this swirling whirling darkness. 3. i swear i can still feel your hands wrapped around my waist holding me together but they are not there. the only thing you have a grip on now is my 4. heart, beating louder than a runaway train because of cloudy memories of your 5. taste overcoming me. you were so sweet, all that was left in your absence was the melancholy taste of loneliness
i never knew love could be so ironic