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 Nov 2018 Moissa
I let different boys touch me
Because I wanted to know
Even for a second
What it felt like to be loved
Even if the love was cheap
And it tasted like ***
Like the punchline to a joke
I never got because it was me

I let different boys have different parts of me
Parts they didn't deserve
But I offered up willingly because I couldn't give anything else
after you broke me
I was looking for different fingers
to place different pieces and hoping  the outcome
would be a masterpiece
Maybe one of them would find a way
to cover up the handprints you left all over me

I let different boys touch me because I had to prove to myself
you wouldn't be the only one
that these scars marking my body wouldn't define
my worth to be loved
I am not entirely sure  
you aren't the only one who could ever touch me without slightly  flinching

I let different boys touch me because that is all I have been taught
To be a joke
To be silent
To be ready to give until you have nothing left
- they keep leaving me and I am to scared to offer up anything more than my body to get them to stay
 Sep 2017 Moissa
I covered my wall with old photos
So that when I lay alone at night
I’m not

Thinking it would fill
That empty void in my heart.
That black hole.
But rather,
It just added more fuel to the flames.  
That burning desire
To not

But I can’t help it.
Loneliness comes naturally to me.
As If it were in my DNA.
My veins.

I separate myself from everyone else.
The only friends I have now
Are the face of those plastered on my wall.
The greatest joke of them all;
As if I could fool myself into thinking
That those faces could comfort this lonely soul.
To the photos which hold my dearest memories. Those unforgettable moments. Long gone but still here in my heart.
 Sep 2017 Moissa
Grace Darling
sometimes i feel too much
sometimes i feel too little
i wish i could stay in that happy place
that lies right in the middle

when i feel too much
it's a torrent of emotion
a downpour of epic proportion
and i pray for it to end

yet when it does i don't feel enough
i'm numb, frozen, depressed.
I then pray for this to end
and i'd do anything to feel again

so i'm stuck in this happy limbo
never feeling quite right
like goldilocks in the three bear's house
i can't sleep at night
 Sep 2017 Moissa
josh wilbanks
Being suicidal doesn't mean i'm going to **** myself

Being suicidal is having this unexplicable ache while you're living

It's waiting for your life to end, and wishing you didn't have to carry on

Having this ache, an incapability to feel happy living, doesn't mean that I am going to **** myself -

It just means I wouldn't mind dying.
 Sep 2017 Moissa
i'm seeing a psychoanalytic therapist
they want to analyze me
because my so called life has turned into the scariest
and somehow in a country of freedom i can't be free
they want to analyze me like a mathematician
analyzes the graph of an unknown function
psychiatric ward it says in the papers for my admission
i'm not crazy somebody please give me a definition
how do you think you can analyze a human
you can't look inside my mind
where all my thoughts are blooming
creating my emotions, feelings or something of an other kind
why do all my actions need a reason
how do you know i didn't write that poem
just to show them how i see the world
it doesn't necessarily mean i'm broken
just because you do not understand
doesn't mean I suffer from some unknown disease
why analyze a masterpiece
cause that's what every single human is
 Sep 2017 Moissa
 Sep 2017 Moissa
There's a hole in my wall,
It's been there a while.
You ask why it's there,
And I nervously smile.
You offer to fix it,
I politely decline.
It doesn't need fixing,
It's perfectly fine.
I like it there,
But you still insist.
If that hole weren't there,
I wouldn't exist.
You won't give in,
You are rudely persistent.
You assure me that,
It'll be fixed in an instant.
Do you fix it for me,
Or is it only for you?
Now there are left,
Not one hole, but two.
Hairspray sweaters
Slit wrists for the center piece
Body parts in the bathtub
Lead in the water pipes
Paper spine of mine
******* my egg -shell skin
Sharp scissors and church grounds
Wringing hands, sunshine fireflies
Spilled milk on summer days
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