'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,
****.

I fell into it

I felt your soul leave me
before you physically did.

playing with my heart

is like playing with fire

because my soul

gets just as

h o t

when it scorches of desire.

my soul has morphed
into the black hole
of a man’s
worst
nightmare

and just like the moon

I’ll spread a little light

in a lotta dark.

changing yourself does
no good

unless things change about the people around you

too

I realized
I don’t have to love myself
I just have to know myself.

he read my poems
and tears filled his eyes

I’m not sure he understood
a lot of these words

grew from his lies.

the monster sized hole you left in my heart, is the monster in my closet, that keeps me awake in the dark.

how many lies
can one tell
before they start
to believe them
their
self.

you’re sweet, honey.

and yet the bees still buzz as if

you aren’t enough anymore

if I had a dollar
for every time
   a friend of mine
     told me that I
       ‘Deserve better’

I could probably
  afford the therapy
    to make myself
      Believe it.

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.

marry her.

I could live without
the days

when my depression
is forced to humble me
into remembering
that I am unwell

and without
my depression

I’d be

more
inclined
to

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.

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

I’m not sure if this even counts as poetry

it’s more so just a vent

I just want to say that I am TIRED

of busting my *** at a job that I hate

so I can barely make my rent.

I argue with my depression almost every hour

she’s a real ***** sometimes

she’s the main reason I have the call in

number to my job memorized

I just feel like it’s all so *******

pointless?

why am I living to work and provide a place for myself to have peace

if being stuck in my head in my “home”

is the last ******* place

I want to be.

I get really tempted sometimes

to just stop.

Stop working

Stop trying

Stop surviving

Stop crying

And then get the hell up

and go.

except I have no place to go

so I don’t

and I won’t

so cheers, I guess.

To paying bills.

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.

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.

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

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.

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 ****.

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 ***.

You say this is not ‘your’ America.

And you’d be right.

But only because you are America.

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

lies are supposed to be sweet.

monsters are real
they aren’t under your bed.

monsters are real
they’re inside your head.

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.

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

when you’re the only one

who is.