Natalie Dec 2017
maybe it's the fact i've been living in garbage, surrounded by rotting food and dirty laundry, because i can't find the energy to get out of bed, because i've been to depressed to anything but eat and feel sorry for myself and stew in not only my own sweat and dirt but my suicidal thoughts.

maybe it's the yellowing teeth because of the countless cigarettes i smoked to get the approval i craved of my boyfriend--sorry, EX boyfriend--who dumped me for seeking acceptance from his friends because it reeked of narcissism, because i was acting out of low self esteem and desire for validation.

maybe from the early signs of gum disease because of the substance abuse i was groomed to believe was the new vogue, or because blacking out every night is what freshman do and not a concerning coping mechanism i was using to hide a bigger issue.

maybe it's a result of the judgmental looks and comments on my worth from men and women alike because of my self medication in the form of intimacy and sexual attention--the ease at which i could be led to bed: through a lazy, slurred compliment and promises of a ride home in the morning (and not to mention means of keeping my mind off of my trauma.) or how after spending my last $10 at the bar i would consistently rely on my ability to give a peep show of the same body that was violated a year ago for a free shot of tequila that burned all the way down and a grimy slice of lime.

or maybe it's because despite it being over 365...366...367...too many fucking days since his filthy hands and body introduced itself to mine uninvited, despite not 1 but 2 police reports, despite 5...6...7...endless calls with victims advocates, despite 1...2...who knows how many failed semesters, despite 1 too many failed suicide attempts....

i was still raped.
trigger warning: sexual assault, substance abuse, depression, PTSD, panic disorder, suicide
Natalie Apr 2016
spring cleaning: to some, it may be about
donating the shirt you haven’t worn since
7th grade and since 9th has been worn out
or rinsing the floors of any footprints.
Or scrubbing the tile of any grout
or dusting every single picture frame--
that’s not my spring cleaning. mine is about
changing who i am despite my same name.
it’s about changing the way i’ve been since
7th grade, it is about showering
and scrubbing off all the shame i can rinse
off of me like filth. it’s me worrying
that i will never again find healing
again and again. that’s my spring cleaning.
Natalie Apr 2016
Sickly sweet; so nauseatingly gross:
Overly sappy idealism.
I call it saccharine, Splenda, Sucralose,
Though some call it "sentimentalism".
What's in a name? That which we call naive?
Rose-colored glasses by any other name would still be fake sweet.
I believe there is no dignity in dogmatism,
Nor valor in virginity; call me a believer in realism,
Or call me a cynic--whichever you prefer.
Does childlike innocent crust and sugar over, like a dream deferred?
The bitterness and sharpness of life's lemons,
Can't be sweetened by a sugarcoating.
And aspartame and nostalgia
Can't help you swallow your pride.
Natalie Mar 2016
your name is so beautiful
it's written on my walls
and on my wrist
and my thighs
and it's always on the tip of my tongue
written in my fogged up mirror after a shower
doodled on my notebook
under favorite contacts in my phone
title of my poems--even the really dumb ones
password to all my logins
etched into my brain
and engraved into my soul
Natalie Mar 2016
i'm more scarred than my wrist
Natalie Mar 2016
dip my pen tip into my subconscious
using my imagination like ink
i write chicken scratch on my paper--
stupid, meaningless little words;
simply an insufficient medium for these thoughts i have
Natalie Mar 2016
petals and leave in autumn
snowflakes in the wintertime
rain in the spring season
in summer, rays of sunshine.
me for you.
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