To the bright-eyed girl who didn't understand a thing
Not because she didn't care,
But because she didn't need to

Instead of perfume,
her mother covered herself in whiskey.
Instead of cologne,
her dad wore *****.

And it wasn't a tragedy,
it was simply normal.

Until she realized that ****** fists and slamming doors
had no place in a home.
And that maybe
just maybe
her house was never really a home.

Because ignorance is bliss.
And if you don't understand
that some things are right
and some are wrong
everything is still just okay

To the bright-eyed girl who didn't know
that her childhood was ripped away
until it was too late

You’re the painter
and
I am the canvas

You mix blues
and purples
into my skin

Your brushes
are the fists
of a flawed
childhood

I am the pale canvas
of
love

I am patient
as your anger
swells

I wait for
your artwork
to form along
my skin

This is sick
I know
But all I can
say is

“Paint me
and
Make me beautiful” -DDF

Day 1: I want to tear my skin off. My heart is beating so fast i can barley breathe. I feel so filthy.
Day 2: I can't believe this. I don't want to be here. Why did this happen? Why did I let this happen?
Day 5: I guess I drank too much and my friends were to drunk to stop me.
Day 10: I can't face my friends, I can't live my life.
Week 3: No one knows. He hasn't said a word.
Week 6: It happened again, I was sleeping and he did it again. Why did I stay the night? Why didn't I go straight home?
Week 7: He left and kissed me goodbye. I don't know how to feel.
Week 10: My life's out of control, I can't believe whats happening.
Month 5: My boyfriend knows. But not all details. Just thinking about it, makes me want to take a shower.
Month 8: I finally came clean to my friends. They're appalled. They hate him now. I still feel filthy. I can't get his smell off my body still.
Month 11: The anniversary is soon. What am I going to do?
Year 1: I haven't spoken to him in months. I haven't thought about it in days. I still feel as if hes on top of me, why can't I wash him away?

Its an uphill battle with myself and others. Some days I can't get out of bed or even feel like breathing.
But I try not to let him get to me. Because if he sees my weakness from what hes done,
He's won.

You say that God made me out of your ribs.
Yet I would like to differ.
Your rhetoric is to oppress me.  
You’ve said it so many times, I forgot my own power!

Let me remind you, that God made us equal.
I do not come from your ribs.
I come from the same dust that created you.
For the Lord saw your empty soul and took pity on thee.
He saw you and thought….
how can my promised be fulfilled, If he is an empty vessel?
So he created me, with all the things you lacked in mind!
Therefore, the parts that made you incomplete, I can complete,
to fulfill his infinite plan for humanity.

He gave me *******,
So that when the hunter gets depressed,
I can still feed human kind.
Throughout history, I have fed the children of the ones that have enslaved me!
I have given birth to the offspring’s of my ******’s.

He gave me ovaries, so that for every child of mine you ****,
be it for your vanity, for your colonies, for the color of their skin,  
I can conceive and continue to multiply.
No child of mine can be replaced.....so I weep, until my milk ducts dry from your senseless crimes.
I continue to thrive, from every ******, from every ****, from ever war, against me, my children, my women, my earth.
You want me to think, God made me inferior.
But, if you think about our design.....
If I chose to, I can stop humanity at its tracks,!
Put an end to you,
to your inhumanity,
and immoral crimes,
just by choosing to never again, give life.  

I am not better than you,
but you will not say I am the weaker one.
If you haven’t understood, WE need each other.
But, I am the connection between earth and God.

Don’t believe the fable, I do not come out of your ribs,
God intelligently placed me on top of you,
so in the hands of women… humanity could be restored,
woven together and be healed...time after time!

I do not come out of your ribs!!!
I love you dearly, but, get your story right.

LeydisProse
6/2/2017
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/

when I was 14 I was force fed contraception and never got a taste of an apology
when I was 14 the phrase "I'm not ready" wasn't a clear enough interpretation of "no"
so instead of presenting my case in front of a judge, I presented my virginity in front of a 17 year old boy.
when I was 14 I didn't know I was being ***** until a week and a half later when it happened again.
and even through my broken sobs and nightmares, my own father didn't believe me for over a year.
when I was 15, I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder because the distinction between love and tear stained pillow cases was nearly non existent.
when I was 15, I made the decision to drown the flashbacks in a sea of painkillers, and in what followed I met thirteen other beautiful girls who shared the same story I did.
when I was 16 I realized something had to be done.

for two years I hid a badge labeled '**** victim' under long sleeves and red eyes because I was too ashamed of what I let happened to myself to get help.
I was told I made a false accusation, when in reality the only fallacy is in our justice system.

**** is not always a white t shirt with specks of blood in the back of an alley or a drunk uncle with a wandering eye. **** is not always screaming at the top of your lungs and fighting for your life with a knife to the neck. it is not always textbook, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be taken seriously.

I still remember that night. I remember how I felt before it happened more vividly than how I felt after. I think I remember it so well because that was the last time I ever felt whole.

Your intentions filled the room as I watched the drool on the side of your lips. The uneasy smirk on your face. You wanted a lot more than to "just get laid." I was far too young to even begin to understand the parts of my body you knew not to touch.

As you kissed me down my neck, my spine quivered and my fear shook. My mother always told me to follow my gut and when I did you grabbed me and you told me not to listen to it. You told me to ignore what I didn't want for the sake of your temporary pleasure. You disregarded my comfort and put your **** ahead of my feelings.

You yanked my legs open and your ripped me into two pieces, and till this day I have yet to find the other half you stolen from me, and I swear I almost see it everyday when I stand ahead of myself naked infront of my mirror but I can never stare at myself long enough to grab me in and make myself whole again.

Do you see what you have done to me? Was that temporary pleasure from my little 13 year old body worth the pain I face today? Was that stolen pleasure worth every jump I make when the man I love touches me with permission? Was your everlasting ******, sounds of moans and sighs escaping from your lips, echoing in my stomach and spilling out in my tears worth me cutting myself open every night since?

I guess it was because at least I'm giving myself permission opening myself up. At least the pain has conscient. At least the blade dragging across my skin silenced the sound of your pleasure inside of me. At least the blood from my wrist dripping onto the bathroom floor isn't mixed with this filth.

At least I have the choice to put just a little more pressure in and I wont have to be reminded of you anymore.

This pain in my chest,
The feeling of disgust,
I have it all the time.
I cant sleep,
Paranoia the whole night,
I cant have friends,
Or a life.
Im too insane,
and too unworthy.
        j.b