love looks a lot like you

know your worth.
know you’re worth it.
know you are worthy.

having ***, just to feel

s o m e t h i n g.

getting high, just to feel

s o m e t h i n g.

taking shots, just to feel

s o m e t h i n g.

popping pills, just to feel

s o m e t h i n g.

doing stupid **** to feel something temporarily hurts you most in the end.

because before you know it, you’re back to feeling nothing and the cycle starts again.

the morning brings
hope

as the evening brings
despair

so as you lay yourself to bed
attempt to dissipate all thoughts
of dread.

because when the sun seeps in to your window

I pray that pleasant thoughts full your head.

monsters are real
they aren’t under your bed.

monsters are real
they’re inside your head.

what is the ******* point
in trying

when you’re the only one

who is.

lies are supposed to be sweet.

I don’t know when my petals died.

I don’t know when the flower that is my soul stopped blooming in the morning when the sun shined in through my bedroom window.

I don’t know when the leaves that are my consciousness became wilted and flew off from my being.

I don’t know when the roots that are my spirituality gave up on hope and light and thus became broke and weak and incapable of support.

I don’t know why the sun still shines, and the birds still sing, and the bees still buzz and I don’t know why flowers die.

The world would be an ugly place without flowers

i am the female version
of men I hate.

i am exactly like the men I date.

this is going to be a hard habit to break.

I’ve never used *******  
in my life,

but being loved by you

is what I imagine

the high feels like.

allowing myself to fall
so completely for him
is the scariest thing
I have
ever
done.

you love him,

I’m actually  sure you do.

But you have to understand

that if he was a man,

he would not allow himself

To hurt you.

if I had a dollar for every time
I wished upon a star
I’d have enough money
to envision a galaxy in which my dreams actually made it that far.

You say this is not ‘your’ America.

And you’d be right.

But only because you are America.

women are free
to do whatever we please
with our bodies,
and,
our souls,
because they are our own.

I honestly don’t think getting your *** beat as a kid and school shootings have any correlation. There are like a million and one external factors that affect children and young adults in their everyday life. Kids these days are exposed to things like riots, violence in their household, seeing mass shootings on television, and most importantly to me, is that a lot of kids struggle internally with depression, anxiety and addiction. Because of posts like this. A lot of adults have the “it worked for me” mentality.

But we didn’t grow up hoping that our friends don’t get shot in front of us. We didn’t grow up susceptible to the fear of ourselves. Our classmates. Our friends.

It has to change. Is what I’m trying to say. It’s a different time. These kids are different than us.

He asked me what my type was

I said I didn’t have a clue

Because what I want

Is never what I need

And well

He was the latter of the two.

I wonder if these dudes understand that the way we act is based on them.

good girl

he said
too bad you’re a good girl
and I rolled my eyes
then laughed

because after I laughed,

this good girl,

blocked his ***.

I’m tired of being used and abused by weak men, who say what they think we want to hear.

Just so they can get us in bed and **** with our heads.

And oh lord if we say anything or call them out on their *******, we’re just another ****** ***** that got too attached to the ****.

**** that ****.

I wish I didn’t care for you,
but I do.

I wish my soul didn’t yearn for you,
like the sun yearns to see the moon.

I wish my eyes didn’t cry for you,
like the rain cries for June.

I wish I had never met you,
but I knew


what I was getting myself into.

his cologne was intoxicating
and our relationship was toxic.

in every moment,
he was the joker

and I was Harley Quinn when he pushed me into the toxic pit.

He let me fall,
multiple times


and I didn’t even care

because he was mine

**** that cologne,

It was Armani.

I swear that **** made me blind.

Because when I was with him I couldn’t see,

and when I wasn’t

I couldn’t breathe.

I think I like him,

but I hope that's where it ends

because I do not have any more pieces of my soul to give.

hashtags
do not bring back the dead.

they do not cause souls
to rise out of the ashes they lay to rest in.

hashtags

raise awareness for

loss
hurt
pain

and that ache in your chest you get
when you realize
that
nothing
is
the
same.

Because If im being honest,

making something a trending topic

is the only way

to make people

give
a
****.

I woke up at 4 am
to the news of a mass shooting,
in Las Vegas.

It makes me sick,
that this is the kind of place
my kids will grow up in.

Now I just wonder,
has it always been this way?

When we were kids,
did our parents just cover our eyes,
and hide our face?

Or is all this ****,
this negative energy,

the beginning of an America

that's far more sinister?


It will be hard,
but we have to fix it.

I refuse to let my kids grow up
worried about ballistics.

I present myself as easy,

a *****.

So others don't view me as a

*****,

a bore.

But which is worse?

Is it better to give it up
or never give in?

Will I ever be known as something besides my sin?

Do I continue saying yes,
but meaning no,
while these men
undress me with their eyes
and leave with my soul.

I have a bad reputation,

and I know how I got it.

I like having ***,

and you can bet your ***,

I flaunt it.

sometimes I feel too easy to play.

is that even a thing?

is it possible to be so open minded, that these playboys just run up on you,

and leave you blindsided?  

it must be,

because for every girl like me,

there's about 10 playboys
running free.

And man,
are they good at the game

of keeping us women sane,

long enough, to watch them

walk

away.

I swear

I would take a bullet for a man,

who
wouldn't
even
try
to
stop
the
****
bullet
from
hitting
me


even though

she
was
aiming
at
him.

"Hey, what's up"

"Oh, you know, nothing much, just hanging with the boys before I have to leave to do something that I shouldn't be"

The I said "oh nice with a couple laughing emojis followed by, I'm about to shower"
and he hit me back with "can I see"

At that point I paused because I know where this leads.

Do I play with the fire that's building up inside of me?

Of course I do, I'm a young female with needs.

So I bust out my ******* and start feeling on my chest,
because it's been a long time since anyone's felt my chest.

He opens the snap video immediately and my heart starts racing when I see his name come up on the screen.

I open it and groan, it's a **** pic.

That's not going to do **** for me.

'the p word.'

I was 18 when I realized I was a *****.
my body, the motel
open 24 hours a day,
allowing any male who looked at me in the slightest of ways
to come in and no I didn't charge by the hour,
it makes me kind of sour,
because none of them ever lasted that long.


My Legs remained wide open
until I was 20,
at that age I met a man,
who I thought loved me.
Yes, I THOUGHT he loved me, but really he liked my body.
But he did love somebody,
she just wasn't me.
A year into our relationship,
I find out he's going to be a daddy, only the baby's mom,
isn't me.

I'm 21 now, and my perspective on things have changed.

You see now I understand.

***** is power,
and it's a treasure that men need to find,
but before they can find it,
they have to deserve that ****.
Any man can tell you you're perfect,
but a real man is going to love you and your flaws,
****.

pfabg

the first time I was told
that 'I was pretty for a black girl' I let it slide.

But each time after that
those words started a fire in my mind.

I had always been confused when someone told me this,
you see,
is it a compliment or a insult, or is it just ****** up to me?

At first I think the white men who tell me this,
have no sour intentions,
but as time passes I realize
that my pigment is thirst quenching.

I realized then,
that being with a black female is a fetish of the worst kind,
because they always want to know,
'what that mouth do though?'.


The addition of the adjective 'black'
made me feel inadequate,
like the color of my skin wasn't just pigment,
but an interstate for loaded compliments and was nothing to celebrate.

I know now, that if any man think that I'm pretty, he'll tell me just that. I had to meet a lot of ***** to realize that mine was already fat.  


not every white man will want to experience the swirl,

and those who do, would never tell me

that I'm pretty for a black girl.