My baby is proud of me,
Of all the poems I wrote,
That's all the praise I need,
Just write,
Write some more,
Till my pen tip is course,
So I can sing to her.

“You're not depressed"
“You shouldn't be stressed"
“I'm cutting you off of your meds"
Cut me off my meds
I'll cut myself into super **** scars
You call me a star, so aren't you supposed to burn if you're a star?
I've been isolating myself
Just for other people to not see me
To not get hurt by me

I've told you everything I have gone through
You've never told me anything you went through
You only told me you got cheated on a few times
You only told me you were used as a toy
Okay?
I never got cheated on
But I've definitely been used as a toy multiple times
Why so many excuses to take me off my meds?
Yes, you were abused by your narcissistic Asian mother
That's cool
Lovely
Though, you did tell me you were trying to make my life better
To clear me from these thoughts
So why do many excuses?

Groomed
Used
Abused
Manipulated
Gas-lit
Victim of Weaponized incompetence
COCSA
SA’d
Cyberstalked
Stalked
All within of my 12 years of living
It doesn't seem much
Six of above happened for years on end by one of my closest people
Three still happening today that I'm very aware of
I just don't know how to get out of it
There's been no justice
Just pure hell
But all what you're saying is “oh well!"
You won't let me call the police
No discipline to anyone
I can't do anything but carry on with my day

Why
Just why?

each word that stings
is carved into skin
the termites
gnawing your bones
make new friends:

horror
and fear

of being
human has-beens
who hide behind
glass eyes
sliced skin
like
humanesque
empty tins

I don't think you know
Just how much
I wish you would look at me
How you look at them
How you looked at him.
I wait for your poems daily
Your notes of absolute gold
And I wish
On every 11:11
For you

My mind tells me I deserve to bleed
That it’s okay that it hurts like hell
That it’s good that the blood won’t stop
Because the blood is mine
The blood is of the person who messed up in conversation
The blood is of the one who’s eyes are devastatingly like her father’s
Of the person who got to school 4 minutes late
And for the one who just sat there class while she knew that there was someone somewhere in pain
For the one who wasn’t there to help them

But my mind also asks me
If my blood is the same
as the three year old who’d play
with napkins and pens
Because creative and strange
Is far better
Than bored and average

My mind asks
If the skin that I tear open
Is the same skin
That the 7 year old’s tears poured down on
Because she was starting to understand
That her father’s behavior was not normal

And even though that ******* that is my head told me to my face
That I am unlovable
And that I deserve to bleed
It somehow had the nerve
To make me feel guilty for yet another thing

It told me I was hurting
the little girl who already
Was struggling

And it told me I was hurting
the grandma with grandkids on her lap
Of whom I’m threatening
Deprivation of snuggling

My mind said
That by doing that
I deserved to bleed and suffer even more

And as the pain starts
It asks me again
If it was just me that I’m hurting

I saw an Angel in my dream.
She said she would fulfill any wish I have.
"Should I make you the best ?"she asked.
"No,"said I.
"Just a little better than yesterday.
That will do."