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some days i convince myself that i'm completely fine. and others all i do is stare into space thinking fuckfuckfuck and trying not to cry.
some nights i fall asleep peacefully as soon as my head hits the pillow. and others i can't force my eyes to shut for the tears streaming out.
sometimes i tell myself i dont need you at all. others i tell myself the truth.
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
Syd
yes all women

because people cringe at the word "feminism".
because I am not a feminist, I am a woman.
I am a human being.
because this poem is a one-sided sexist rant.
because I was fifteen years old when my mother first taught me about how to hold car keys as a weapon in case anyone ever attacked me.
because teenage girls are taught to never walk alone in a parking garage.
because in elementary school I was told to switch which side of the street I was walking on while going home if a man was approaching me in the same direction.
because when I was twelve my parents gave me my first cell phone for when I was out riding my bike, or taking a walk.
because I can't wear a spaghetti strap tank top to school, as it will "distract the boys".
because boys are distracted by a bony girl in a spaghetti strap tank top.
because freshmen girls are taught not to date senior boys, instead of senior boys being taught not to go after freshmen girls.
because senior boys go after freshmen girls.
because when I was ten years old I told my dad that my grandfather made me feel uncomfortable, and he got angry at me for making such a blasphemous statement.
because even after I told my mother, and she talked to my father, he ignored it completely.
because my grandfather made me, at ten years old, feel uncomfortable.
because when I was fourteen my boyfriend broke up with me since I "didn't put out".
fourteen.
because by ninth grade I had received my first unwanted and unwelcomed advance.
because I didn't tell anyone.
because school administrators turn the other cheek when a girl is ***** in the stairwell.
because **** charges are being dropped by judges.
because victims are being bullied into silence.
because a hashtag is the most sincere form of activism.
because **** is a crime no matter what color you try to paint the picture.

because I will go to bed tonight, after posting this poem, after telling my story, and I will wake up tomorrow.
and nothing will change.
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
Syd
I guess I was always best at making messes of things like the inside of your chest or the rest of the world. its a lot easier than anyone ever tells you to become addicted to the sick and twisted feeling in your stomach when you hear things like "he lives with his grandparents now" or "she tried to **** herself in ninth grade". cracked ribs and broken hearts are not one in the same. one will always hurt far worse than the other and it's always the one that hospitals can't fix. white washed walls and sterile hallways filled with empty people waiting for their lives to change raspy breath and pale skin I remember going to the hospital as a kid and asking "are there people dying in there?" my mother never did give me an answer. the truth is, there are people dying everywhere. only the lucky ones make it to the hospital. the truth is people die on bathroom floors with a stomach full of pills and a fist full of love letters that will never be sent. people die over the phone choking on a throat full of apologies they'll never spill. people die popping sorrys like pills and swallong broken teeth by eating glass as if it were easier than saying I love you for the last time. we break ribs to make space for people who have no intention of staying and the last time I spoke your name was three days ago in a drunken haze lying on my back and shouting to the moon "I love you more" wishing that it was you I've screamed your name to the raining sky more times that I'd like to say but each day I find myself swallowing your promises and choking on the forevers you ensured me we'd spend together as if you ever even meant it
you didn't
and I can't even ******* breathe because its always been me lying on the bathroom floor with more pills than I should even know exist with a fist full of letters I'll never get to kiss and I still pick up the phone just to hear the busy tone and mumble apologies until I dont know what I'm saying and I'm swallowing ***** bottles and chewing on glass to make saying I love you for the last time feel less like living and more like dying
im dying
im dying
im dying
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
Louise


So you want my story
the story of my life
the secrets I have kept,
the many I've tried to hide

You don't want to know
the story or the tale
let's just not mention it
the past, on its ship did sail

I'm continuing to let go
of the past and the hurt
I'm a woman that's still growing
leaving behind the bruised little girl

One day I will be healed
and maybe sleep at night
hopefully before I've completed
the story of my life


 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
Syd
we floated around in an ocean
of mediocrity
sharing poems etched into the skin
on our wrists
wondering when the weight of the world would drown us in our own thoughts
thoughts of people who didn't even know
we existed
places we would never go
and things we would never say
no one knows I still sing you happy birthday
in the room where you died in my arms
its only a metaphor, of course
I'm sure you're out there somewhere
in a city that could never care
about you
like I did
tattooing your skin with her bed sheets
and kissing over coffee tables made
of all the ways I'll never get to say
I love you
the coffee table you lay books on top of
but never read
or run your knee into and curse
under your breath
I imagine this is what loving you
would have been like
and still
the thought is enough to keep me up
at night
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
R
Isn't it wonderful:
the way you become
so enveloped
in a world
that isn't your own?
the way
people romanticize you
sitting on a park bench
trying to escape
from the life
you call yours?
the way your emotions
run wild
reading about adventures
you'll never have?
when you've become
so numb
to the world around you
because you've read
too much fiction
to know the difference
between reality and fantasy?
My illness is in my eyes:
Do not judge me by my size
Or the normality of my thighs

My demons live in my heart,
And show themselves in part
In my all-consuming scars

But just because I seem fine
Don't presume I'm happy inside,
Or that I'm really alive;

The darkness lives within
My pale and common skin,
Driving me to destructive things

My faltering smile should be
Some clue to what haunts me;
Do not believe that I am free.

You'll see me eat and laugh,
But positivity will never last;
My sadness is not in the past

Eating disorders are not skin deep,
For when I'm tired I cannot sleep
I have many secrets to keep.

*© Tara India
absolutely sick of people assuming I'm not sick because I'm "not that thin" - mental illnesses are inside.
 Sep 2014 Madison McCray
ZWS
You're running around with your head cut off
And your circus personality
Your face is ****** and sad, with those dark rings around your eyes, and all the years you've seen have made you plain curmudgeony
Your silt pockets run dry to the earth, their face is laced with ******* and dirt
Your mace head is running wiry with hair, and you wouldn't be surprised if you found a rats nest in there
You've been casted a role, that you forgot how to play, from all the years of half-assed hearsay
You said you'd give me your word, and chilled with guilt, you fiddled and farted away
Fun fact:
This song was originally about a ****.
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