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Mikayla Nov 2015
Your skin,
Smelled of desire,
And I wanted nothing more,
Than,
To feel every inch of it,
Pressed against me.
I could see,
The goosebumps arise,
While you traced,
Circles,
Around my *******.
Your breath,
Hot on my skin,
As you trailed,
Down,
My exposed sternum.
A sultry sight,
I look into your eyes,
Before,
Your tongue finds,
The appex of my thighs.
Mikayla Nov 2015
Tap
Tap
Tap
I sat silently.
Tap
Tap
Tap
I typed frantically.
Tap
Tap
Tap
I thought loudly
But
all I heard
All they heard
All you heard
Was
Tap
Tap
Tap.
Mikayla Oct 2015
The heat from a breath
Formed a dysfunctional circle
On the glass parallel to my face
As I gasp at the drop off below me.
The empty space below my foot
Catches in my heart
The rapid beat shakes my rib cage
As I swing the appendage in semicircles.
Suddenly,
I
F
A
L
L.
- M.Y.
Mikayla Nov 2015
I woke up,
Mid-January,
The light hit him just right,
He looked almost holy.
I traced,
His parted lip,
Felt the softness,
Before I pressed mine.
I breathed in,
The intoxicating aroma,
It smelled like him,
And clean linens.
He woke up,
Mid-January,
The light hit him just right,
He looked almost holy.
Mikayla Apr 2016
I could write about darkness,
And the losses I've felt,
But today,
Oh today,
I feel flowers growing in my lungs,
And I can smell the roses blooming.
I don't have the time,
Nor the patience,
Nor the space,
To pay any attention to the aches.
I feel the sunshine in my brain,
It warms me from the inside out,
And I swear you felt it when you touched me.
My feet,
They want to dance,
For the first time in forever,
And for once my subconscious is singing.
But today,
Oh today,
It is singing.
Mikayla Dec 2016
It's been over a year,
Since I wrote you my dear,
Things simply haven't been the same.

You see,
One year ago,
I was far too caught up in the moment.

You see,
Six months ago,
I was too busy getting lost.

You see,
A little over three,
There was no longer a 'you and me.'

It's crazy it seems,
You're still in my dreams,
And I truly can't shake this hell.

You see,
A little over three,
I lost what made me, me.

You see,
A little over three,
I was finally engulfed by the sea.

You see,
A little over three,
You shattered my reality.

Yet you still call,
Yet you still come around,
Yet your voice is still my favorite sound.

You see,
A little over three,
A little over three,
Holy **** it's been a little over three.
Mikayla Dec 2015
It was not the idea,
Of jumping off a bridge,
That kept me from,
It.
It was not the idea,
Of feeling my body fall,
At 75 mph that scared,
Me.
It was not the idea,
Of my own inevitable ending,
That stopped me from,
Death.
It was your face,
And my mother's,
And the tears,
And the blaming,
And the last thing I wanted,
Was to hit the water,
And know that you'd jump in,
An hour after,
They found my body.
Mikayla Dec 2015
I couldn't breathe,
As I laid in a ball,
On my twin size bed,
Curled up on the side,
You used to lay on.
"Babygirl, don't cry."
You said all the time.
But saying that,
Would be the same,
As if I asked you not to go.
Both of which inevitable.
Mikayla Nov 2015
Slowly,
Take one,
Take another,
Take ten million,
Just breathe.
There's a world of creativity,
Growing within the confines,
Of your critical veins,
And to slice those of which,
House the very essence of yourself,
Is a disservice to your being.
Slowly,
Take one,
Take another,
Take enough,
Just breathe.
You have purpose,
That seeps through the,
Light you bring to the room,
When you laugh.
And to silence that,
Is to **** your soul.
Slowly,
Take one,
Take another,
Take them all,
Just breathe,
Sweetheart, you deserve it.
Mikayla Nov 2015
"You have an obsession with time,"
He yelled it so clear.
I've been counting down,
The weeks,
The months,
The years.
"You have an obsession with time,"
It worried me sick.
I spent each day focusing,
The seconds,
The minutes,
The hours.
"You have an obsession with time,"
I felt it close in.
The ticking and tocking that screamed from within,
It pulled at my organs,
It banged on my skin.
"Of course I do, idiot."
But it never got through,
That I can't let go,
Of time's unruly control,
Our work,
Our sleep,
The amount on earth of which we're breathing.
And nevertheless,
It's constantly fleeting.
Mikayla Dec 2015
Three days in,
And I must admit,
It's getting better,
Like they said it would.
However,
I have been using everything,
I have,
To keep that feeling of you,
Close to me.
Your clothes,
They still reek of you,
And the laundry soap your mother uses.
I keep the stuffed giraffe we won,
At the county fair,
On my night stand to remind me,
That you're coming home.
And I haven't yet washed my face,
I really know I ought to,
But your kiss is still on my cheek,
And I don't want to lose it.
All of our friends,
They've kept me company,
So I don't panic,
When your name doesn't pop up on my phone.
I check that **** thing so often,
You'd think I would stop,
But ******* it,
I'm hoping I'll wake up,
And none of this had happened.
Mikayla Nov 2015
It's not that I wish to die,
More or less,
But if I were to go on a walk,
And find myself,
At the edge of a cliff,
I wouldn't stray the course.
And it's not that I'm depressed,
More or less,
But I've been using alcohol,
To make the silence,
Less deafening to be in.
Mikayla Nov 2015
I write when I'm in love,
Or when I'm sad,
But never when I'm happy.
Happiness is a dull emotion,
Passionless and bland,
Never screams anything spectacular.
But love and sadness,
Speak to the soul,
And resonate in hollow hearts.
Speak to desperate entities,
To people destined to feel something,
Anything.
Truly raw emotions,
Of which brings,
The strongest to drunks,
The weakest to ruins,
And the confused,
Unable to tell the difference.
Mikayla Nov 2015
9,
I was invaded,
A personal space to be kept hidden,
Was shattered with the memories,
Of the father hovering above me.
11,
I was invaded,
My brain tracing the outlines,
Of models curves,
While I refused to eat in the presence of others.
16,
I was invaded,
A duck and weave,
As I avoided the fist,
Of my boyfriend's tensed muscles.
17,
I refuse to be invaded,
My lungs a dark red,
Screaming for me as I defend myself,
And it all stops.
I was not invaded.
- M.Y.
Mikayla Jan 2016
I wanted to write to you,
But I couldn't find words,
That wouldn't fail to make you sad,
Because I wanted to make you smile.

You see,
You were so far away,
And I,
Well I was left behind,
And every emotion I felt,
Was sad.

But I wanted to make you happy,
As happy as you made me,
So I wrote down every good memory,
And powered through my tear stained cheeks.

So I hope you find solace,
In the scrambled ideas I scrawled,
While I laughed about our first date.
And I hope you find time,
To recollect on these things,
As they made you and I,
And that's all that matters in the end.
Mikayla Feb 2016
It didn't matter who,
Or When,
Or Where,
Or What,
He used to get his way.

A manipulative little boy,
Born and bred to be,
No less than destructive.

A brother by blood,
But by God not by love,
And perhaps that's why.
Mikayla Dec 2015
I wanted to paint,
A trail of red,
Down your chest
leaving nothing but,
The stain of my lips,
To lay in contrast,
To your fair skin.
You brought forth,
A pallette in my eyes,
Birthed within a new,
Sight of purples,
Left behind,
By the lost ramblings,
I drown in after ***.
Mikayla Nov 2015
I've always pondered,
What it'd be like to lose,
My heart,
Perhaps I shouldn't.
In one week,
From two yesterdays ago,
You'll be gone,
And with you,
My heart shall go too.
But you'll be so brave,
My little soldier,
Just remember,
To hold my heart dear.
Mikayla Oct 2015
For a person,
Whom spends the majority of,
Their night hours in their own head,
The task of falling into a deep slumber,
Is by all definitions,
Strenuous.
I wish to sleep,
My eyelids grow heavy,
My temperature drops,
But my mind does not silence,
My clock does not stop.
And when I wake,
From a sleep I can't quite remember,
Finding,
My mind is still running.
Mikayla Dec 2015
It's been hard,
To write since you left.
My words,
They hardly paint,
Anything of,
Substance.
You were my muse,
It seems,
The Clyde to,
My Bonnie,
At least it seems like it,
Anyway.
It's not so perfect,
This situation,
Or you and I.
But *******,
I wish,
You hadn't taken my words,
So far away.
Mikayla Feb 2016
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
When I got that anonymous question asking me "why is it when you fool around with your dad, no one gets in trouble, but when I do it I'm a ******?" I almost snapped. The smell of cheap beer formed under my nose and the entire contents of my stomach almost fell to the side of my bed, however, I had not eaten enough to push all of my mental instability out of my mouth. I could feel my father's hands around my wrist, pulling, pinning, calloused hands scratching my nine year old skin. I could hear my young cries for help, and the tears staining my cheeks. I could feel the air on my ear as he whispered. "Tell anyone and it'll be worse next time." I remembered cleaning my own blood from the carpet that afternoon.
And I almost replied with a defensive remark, but I stopped. There was no need for this private matter to be put on display on a social media forum, because then who's the girl that "fooled around" with her father?
But then the question, it irks me to my very core, the reason my hands are so swiftly typing this poem between waves of hurricanes in my eyes. It's as if my dignity has been stripped from me again, no more layer of scar tissue to protect even the deepest layers of my darkest secrets. Nothing was safe anymore.
And when I showed it to my boyfriend, the look in his eyes terrified me. It was as if someone had just dropped a match on a mile long pile of bone dry trees doused in gasoline. But someone had. Someone had dropped a match on me, just as fragile and capable of burning up completely.
Never tell the girl with messy hair and wide eyes that when her father sexually abused her they were, "fooling around." Fooling around is a consensual act between two lovers, friends, or strangers in which both gain pleasure and to make her feel as though that is something she did is degrading and destructive. She's already been through that once.
Mikayla Apr 2016
I found the love of my life at the bottom of my last regret,
And that's not to say I found him in my brokenness,
But more to say that the broken can still love,
As easily as waves can repeatedly crash,
And a storm can rip through the tide.
Mikayla Nov 2015
I wrote to find solace,
In the space while you were gone.
My mind formed words,
Sentences,
Paragraphs,
To replace the substance,
I was deprived of within your absence.
My tongue spoke none,
But a fragment or two,
To tell another I couldn't be bothered,
I was too busy writing for you.
Mikayla Nov 2015
"There is no sense in breathing,"
It was written on the wall,
In the ***** truck stop bathroom,
That made my skin crawl.
I scrubbed my hands,
And left in a scurry,
But the quote stained my skin,
Now red from fury.
"There is no sense in breathing,"
It rang in my head,
As I sped down the highway,
Now why would someone wish to be dead?
The thought spun my brain,
I didn't believe that someone so beautiful, Would be so insane.
But they were,
And they are,
And that's what it meant.
There's no sense in breathing,
If you're already dead.

— The End —