I was little
The first time they called me that word consisting of six letters
For trivial mistakes
For being a disappointment
For asking for help
I am insecure
I tried, but they broke my confidence
I developed a fear of failure
I tried, but they broke my enthusiasm
And it left a permanent mark

You should have seen the way she was looking at me she was asking for it with her big smile and the way she flipped her hair, she looked at me and smiled so, obviously, she was asking for it. This is the type of language I have heard from men who have tried to justify their actions.
As though that would change our reactions to how they treat women during interactions.
You know I can’t walk out at night without a chaperone
And when I am at a party I cannot leave my drink alone
I mean my anxiety has become full-blown.
In 2012 1.5 million women in Australia had experienced ****** assault
And with this great number how can you say that it was probably her fault.
You should know that that’s her body not your it’s not for you to look at or to pry
Again, it's hers, not yours so why do I need to clarify?
What kind of messed up world do we live in where a woman speaking her truth has become sin?
She asked for you to stop as you groped her, but you were not listening
The very thought of this in my mind is honestly nothing but sickening.
We sit quietly and watch these men become the leaders of our countries and the judges in our courts. Who because of our ignorance, have still not been caught.
And yet despite the numerous reports, people refuse to connect the dots.
You mean to tell me that these women were asking for it as they lay unconscious as their offender whispered that it would be their little secret.
When will people stop and listen to the cries of these women, they are everywhere and whether you like it or not they do not exist.
They are in the bathrooms of a bar, they are in the same streets we walk every day they are even in the offices we work.
In places which we least expect them to be are where these predators lurk.
Since I was young I always dreamt of what it would be like to be grown
And now in 2018, I realized what it means to be a woman.
It means being safe should be my main concern
It means if a man puts his hands on you he should be pardoned
Because with the way you were dressed clearly, he had no option
And no matter what you say they will only listen to his version
Because your woman and you do not know what you’re talking about not even a fraction.
I have heard the stories of women who gave their confessions, and no one believed them
Because who are they to try and tarnish the names of these men
So, tell me when just when will a woman’s voice will be heard again
But It’s the strength and fortitude of women like Nadia Murad who make me believe
That because of the horrors that have occurred we don’t all have to grieve
There is truly is a chance for us to make some good after all the negative
There is hope for us victim or not we could all write a new narrative
One where a girl wearing a skirt would not be reason enough for her to be hurt
One where a girl can sit at night on public transport with comfort
One where a girl walking home alone would not be a hazard
A world where when it comes to things like these, we have a higher standard
A world where the idea of a man putting his hands on a woman would be absurd.
When people ask us why we fight there are many answers that are in the right.
We fight for the women who lost their lives in the arms of these monsters
We fight for the women who were forced to become young mothers
We fight for the woman who have been silenced and put into corners.
These are the people we fight for whether she’s Muslim, Christian, Sikh or any other religion
Whether she’s Black, White, Mexican or Asian or another ethnicity, we will use our words and story’s as ammunition.
For we know that there is a war to be won
And We will no longer run
So, when we speak of the monsters still standing there will be none,
And for the women who are afraid to speak his name, just know you’re not alone.

The difference between actions and habits,
     is often measured by the person you're asking.  
One bump, one line, one half ounce...
All shared by people you don't even give a **** about.

These chemicals make me sick --
              Limitless...Why quit?
              When it's only ten bucks for a hit like this?
Even Jesus Christ would have gotten addicted,
              if drugs in his day were half this good.

"Yeah, I'm smashed -- but I promise I can drive fine."
      Walk and push the limits of a real fine line...
If I don't **** myself, or someone else... I'm happy.
       Stare death in his eyes, wink, and start laughing.

Gasping as I swerve lanes --
Stay safe, get paid. Mundane daily.
Living a-live.. Eat. Sleep. Dream. Get laid.  
Chase feelings.

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You know me, right?

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You love me, right?

I want to melt with you -- let our souls collide...
Dissolve the boundaries between students and teachers.
        To bridge the gap in the great divide
        No secrets between us -- bleed into the speakers.

Feel the air in your chest, and ask God for a reason...
To stay or leave Him.
He makes excuses...

                                                     ­      ... Believe Him.

I feel it in my fingertips
when you tell me how you worry.
I feel it most in my ring finger—
Isn’t that strange?
The sea in my ribcage tosses,
and your Navy boat of which the name I forget rocks upon it.
You are unsure if you’ll be coming home on time.

I watch the waves from the opposite coast,
making note of how tall they are,
how dark,
and suddenly I am in them
as they are within me.
They beat against the undersides of my skin,
so hard that I pray
for the first time in ten years,
asking God to watch over us,
to bless this gorgeous thing we have.

Half a decade in
that was all I needed,
all the time it took to see
the world was an insult to me.

Was I cursed at birth
to live on the brink of death?
Trapped in this trance until
Poseidon's realm pulls me to its depths?

My pursuits to meet him have gone astray.
Countless trials that end one way:
under bright lights,
in a hospital gown,
tubes, tests, nurses pinning me down,
and a hundred voices asking me why
Why oh why did I want to die?
Well I was muting the agony,
executing my destiny,
see daylight please, it's meant to be.
You can't stop me.

And Plath said it best
I do it well,
my scars could attest.

Perhaps I'm not as strong
as my mother once thought,
by her god's design I was built-in wrong.
My own echo whispers
“You never did belong”
Neither here nor there, or anywhere.

I fear I am nature's mistake.
For the hands of fate, I must partake
in this sacrifice
to begin my demise.
This shouldn't come as a surprise.

I was only five.
I thought I could survive.

Because you assumed.
That I was willing to give.
That I was able to give.
That I had anything to give.

Because you made the choice,
of self-sacrifice for me.
I am upset because
you didn't even think

to ask first.