do you mean to tell me, Sir, that the turn of a century
means a change in our ways?
that the start of a new millennia will successively bring
a new wave of respect for me?

don't look so ******* sour darlin', I didn't hurt you
3 hours ago, with the walk home I take everyday,
comes the abuse I must also take daily
and my inner monologue is drowning every ounce of self control I hold
but my fearful mouth is paralysed by the anxiety
or is it the fear that has been built into my body
since the day I was born, to tell me never to resist
to the cat calls, the wolf whistles, the rowdy drunken men
shouting at me, always shouting

*******, love, it was only a compliment
A compliment.
Is dehumanising me, demoralising me, and leaving me afraid
supposed to fill my heart with delight? Or the utmost fear.
You knew which you would inflict upon me. You always know.
My palms are sweaty as I walk away, I try to stay calm.
If you see me cry. You see me weak. You will try to attack.

be careful walking home if it's dark, keep something small and sharp with you
would my parents have chanted this mantra to me,
each and every day
had they conceived a boy? No.
Would my gut be plagued with pain and fright
at the thought of crossing a group of boys
in the blackness of night
if I was not a woman? No.
Do I deserve this? In a society  that

*Being a woman is frightful. Being alive in this time, is the most painful thing
I will ever have to endure.
But boys. Don't you forget.
I may be young, and slightly feeble now.
But I am a lioness.
I am growing. I am sharpening my teeth and claws.

I am ready. Do not push me too far. I am ready, to pounce and
to destroy all that has ever sought to destroy me
I am strong. I am stronger than you, and any male
that has ever tried to break me.
You are nothing but putrid boys.
I will not back down. I will not stand around
and watch you attack my sisters.
I am a woman.
And yes, you should be scared.

you lie there next to me
we don't speak
we both feel too dizzy
our heads are too light
despite how full they feel
and our eyes are rolling back
into our skulls, trying to read
our own minds
we can't even do that much
we are helpless and intoxicated
my head rolls, too
it always finds its way to your shoulder
no matter how strange I may feel
I never really understood why
until I looked into my heart
and saw nothing,
because my mind was preoccupied
thinking of you

these weekends are getting the better of me
beginning to take their toll on me
starting to make me question things
finishing with thoughts that leave me confused
but I found out one thing
I really like being around you

it wasn't enough to hear you say that you love me,
I needed proof, hard proof, evidence
that a being like yourself even had a heart inside that skeletal cage,
does it beat? Or just lay still
like your body when you're beside me.

I know you don't love me any more,
your heart stopped beating at least 3 months ago
and before that I have a feeling it was black, and cold as ice, anyway

you'd beg for kisses, and more, and tell me you love me
as you collapsed in a heap next to me
but never on me, there was always distance between us
even when we should be the closest one human can get to another

but I felt the space between us, turn from a crack, to a gaping hole
you never told me you loved me when I kissed you, or when I had to blow your nose
because you were too sick to even move your arms

you never said you loved me when I cooked us breakfast on a rainy morning
and you listened to me humming our song, under a breath laced with regret
and that morning I let you wind your arms around my front, and you whispered in my ear
I thought you'd say you loved me, you just told me the eggs were cooked wrong

I haven't moved on, I haven't moved on
I'm still stuck on you and I never even knew you
I never felt your hand in mine and it's still the only thing I need
I never knew the way your breath warmed the crevices in my neck
and I still wish to know how your lips would feel
pressed to mine, at 3 am when your touch is the only thing
I desire deeply enough to deny myself sleep
I don't know what you meant when you said you couldn't tell me
I didn't understand, and it's been nearly a year,
but I still don't
and sometimes when I look at the grass, and in the sky
and at the bottom of a bottle of cheap *****
I think of you
and I think of how you left
and I think of how much I still can't comprehend
and I had no closure
and you didn't care
no closure
no closure
no means of explanation
just a body that I never knew
and a pair of hands that float in thin air
and arms that will not hold me in 5 years
when I'm still unstable thanks to my first love

I fall in love with boys that I've only known for a night
in badly lit rooms, unfamiliar to me,
with music I've never heard before playing very loud, maybe too much so.

What is so addictive about intoxicating myself, painting my lips red
and brandishing these boys' cheeks, and mouths and tongues
with a shade of lipstick that is maybe too overbearing, and tastes cheap.

All the while they brandish me, with unforgettable eyes, a kiss,
maybe too good to be true, and a personality that soars through the skies
leaving me attached, again, to someone too good for myself.

“What are those marks on your arm?”
Instincts pulled the fabric of my sleeve over the evidence and
I thought of giving my normal excuse:
My car scratched the hell out of me.
Most people didn’t know that I actually had a dog,
But they never questioned the lie.

I didn’t answer the girl’s question right away
And the silence that filled the space between us
Reminded me of when a stranger enters the elevator;
Neither of us talked or looked at each other.

I thought of telling the curious girl about my teenage years
And how it seemed a dark cloud hovered around me,
Reigning over my head and sliding beneath my feet
Like a magic carpet, taking me to places I didn’t enjoy going.

I thought of telling her that often times I felt
That terrible cloud becoming stronger, overwhelming me
Like turning on a faucet, warm water covering the bottom
Of the bathtub, inch by inch, creeping over the surface like the tide drowns the sand.

I could feel it like that eerie feeling that comes
Before a big thunderstorm, starting near my feet and seeming to
Crawl up my legs like a gust of wind creeps under a sundress
And I tried to hold it down or push the cloud away.
But pushing it was like pushing a cloud of smoke. It swirled
To other parts of my body but still it lingered around.


I thought of telling the girl that while growing up,
When it rained, it poured.
One thing went wrong and five others went wrong,
Like a design of dominoes. One tips over and soon
You’re left with too many pieces scattered over the floor.

I thought about telling her that I often
Laid in bed at night, a staring contest with the ceiling,
As I imagined myself floating around the high walls of a church
Where my funeral shouldn’t have even been held
Because of all the sins I’d dreamt of committing.

Suicide is considered a sin.

I pictured my mother crying, my brother trying to keep his composure;
My friends who’d dressed in black and sat in the church pews,
Keeping hold of the secret they’d refused to do anything about.
I imagined a lot of hugging and tears, but mostly I heard the lies
That they’d say about me:
“She had so much going for her.”
“It’s really too bad.”
“What a beautiful girl she was.”

I saw myself lying inside the casket, one half of it open,
Revealing my arms crossed in front of me,
My fingers laced in between the spaces of each other
As if I was praying, but it was much too late.

After discovering the scars upon my wrists,
I would be clothed in long sleeves to hide what everyone
Had been pretending not to see.

I didn’t tell the girl that I’d already seen my funeral.

She continued looking at me, waiting for the answer
To the question I’d hoped would never be asked.

I thought about telling her how I kept a thin, silver
Razor blade hidden inside my purse so when the dark
Cloud threatened, I could slice my way through the roaring
Smoke harboring rain droplets that wanted to fill up my body of a bathtub
And consume me.

I thought of telling her that there was a time when I depended
On such a small, dangerous object. I thought about telling her that
I often held the metal like a lifejacket to keep me afloat
Amongst the raging flood waters that wanted to drown me.

I thought about telling her that late at night after I was sure the house
Was asleep, I cried huge, heaving, silent sobs.
My pillow caught my tears and my blankets severed as Kleenexes.
It was all I could do to hold back the truth of telling her that
I grabbed my life preserver many times and would drag the blade
Across my flesh, creating a ripple of red ink over my pale, white wrist;
A tear in the shower curtain that protected my body.

I thought about telling her that many nights
I drank too much alcohol and digested too many pills
And cut myself too deep into what seemed like my own burial,
To where I couldn’t see the light at the other end and it felt
Like the casket lid had closed over me.
I didn’t tell her that I tried to climb to the top of the hole
Where I was buried, only for it to feel like someone had
Stepped on my fingers, the pain making me let go and fall again,
Deeper to the bottom.

I thought about telling her that I’d been lost and tried
Finding myself by drawing maps over my wrist with a
Car that had seen too many miles in such a short amount of time.
I thought about telling her that I made too many mistakes that I couldn’t
Take back; ones that I couldn’t hide or cover all the time,
Like tattoos that wouldn’t wash away.

I thought about telling her that I stopped wearing my seatbelt
When I drove anywhere because if I was in an accident,
I would have a better chance at dying.
But she wouldn’t understand.

So instead, I pushed my sleeve back up to the middle of my
Forearm where it’d been when she’d first asked,
Exposing the straight lines of flesh that had healed over but
Left a permanent scar of elevated skin.
I ran my fingertips over them, feeling the wounds
Like a train moving over the ridges of a railroad.

The girl’s eyes studied my scars that I showed her.
I took her arm in my hand and traced my fingers over
Her skin, smooth , without any ripples,
Then told her to do the same.
She did, then repeated the same motion on mine.
Her cold fingers touching what I’d never wanted her to see.

We made eye contact again.
“Do you see how your skin is soft and smooth?”
I asked her. She nodded her head in response.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t ever think about ruining it.”
I whispered,
Wishing my mother had said the same to me.