i heard you asked about where i am during lunch period
i heard you were disappointed that i hide in the art room

i heard you miss me
i wish you would just kiss me

but youll change your mind when i come aroud again
"we're just friends"

right ?

I sit in my seventh grade health class
*** ed freshman year
My twelfth grade english class
And they talk about ****.
They talk about it like it's an idea
A textbook definition
A rare shadow of society
That doesn't happen to real people
At least not people you know.
They act like there is only one way it happens
It's either a creepy forty year-old man who comes into your bedroom uninvited
Over and over again.
Or, as you grow up,
A boyfriend or date with whom you are, in their opinion,
'Stupid' enough to get drunk with
Passed out on a bed
Your clothes are like weights that anchor your heavy soul.
Maybe my form of abuse was different
As I was in his bed
Which felt more like a coffin full of spiders
As spirits plucked every last bit of life from me
Like guitar strings.
He was not a crusty old man with years of experience molesting children
He was my beloved fourteen year-old cousin
Who had struggled with Aspbergers his whole life.
I had looked up to him regardless.
How could I hate someone who was sick?
How could I hate someone who may or may not have
Understood the severity of what he was doing?
He only molested me once
But it molded my impressionable mind
Like silly putty
From then on I only fell for men
Who had bloodstained hands
And crooked smiles.
It is no wonder that at sixteen
Even after I had dealt with the aftermath of his hurricane
Another boy took advantage of me
And left me seldom sleeping.
It is no wonder that I did not recognize his abuse right away
Or that even though I knew he had wronged me
I would not call it assault.
It is no wonder that instead of press charges or tell my parents
I chose to avoid it
Confiding in my therapist only because I was backed into a corner
Treading quicksand all the while.
The harder you fight, the faster you sink.
After I told about my molestation at fourteen
My parents, although they were extremely supportive,
Told me to keep it quiet
Not to tell everyone.
Their intentions were exceptional
But they made me believe I had something to be ashamed of
When I realized this wasn't the case
I screamed at the top of my lungs
Shouted across the valleys
I was going to be heard
And when I joined forced with others who
Had dealt with similar events
Our ashes piled together
Created a smoke signal so vibrant, so immense
That people had to intentionally avert their eyes in order not to notice it.
We are not the bruises of society
For you to poke and **** at
To see how much our wounds hurt.
We are not for your corrupt education system
Your industry
That you can choose to use for your campaign
Just when our stories are marketable.
These stories do not all look the same
Different chapters
Different pages
Different font styles.
My story is mine
And I do not get to pick and choose
Take my assault off the shelf just when it looks pristine and proper
I live with this everyday
And just as burn victims still have marks that remind them
Of the incident
I still have pieces of me
That struggle with this event on a daily basis.
But I choose to use it in a way that makes me whole.
I cannot change the story
But I can change the ending
And I accept the fact that it will never be a porcelain doll
But it is my battle scar to show as I please
I am a survivor
That is my bragging right
And no one else's shame.

You've been my best friend
and worst enemy.
I've felt my heartbeat rhythmically pulsing into the ground.
When I cannot stand
you are there to catch me,
always.
But there's another catch too.
I'd like what you stole from me.
Too many times in which I've lost my breath
because of pain you inflicted.
Why do you let so many terrible people walk all over you?
And she-
She is buried six feet into your skin.
A gem to this world but you'd never know it.
Dear Earth.
I want her back.
I'll even trade places with her if you'd like.
Let her give life to you again.
Let me go under
and never come back up.

****

My friend had a knife
She didn't use it right
Knives are for cutting food
She used it for her mood
Knives are to open Mail
She used it to wail
Knives aren't  meant
On the skin
The beautiful skin on each of us
My friend HAD a knife
She didn't use it right

Dear Silver Tongued Shadow,

I came across your poetry and I can see traces of your soul inside it all.

I don’t know you, you don’t know me.

Neither of us know what the other has been through.

Seems from your style of writing and the way you portray your images
made out of letters that you are strong. Not one to be messed with. Fierce.

You seem to be your own shade of beautiful darkness.

I have selected some of my favorite lines from your poetry.

They are magnificent.

I think you deserve appreciation for your work.

Because our work, is a puzzle piece of who you are.

So I recognize, acknowledge, applaud, appreciate and admire who you are.

Thank you for writing, because regardless how small and insignificant I may be in this big, big world

Your writing has powerfully affected me.

I am inspired by the stories you tell

The feelings you express

The messages you spell out

With the words of your poetry

You are a truly phenomenal writer.


It is the ones who know the pain of reality that make their dreams true....
-Silver Tongued Shadow

A beautiful, tragic and truthful phrase. Sort of like literature’s equivalent of a tearful smile. Lovely writing.

Sitting in a class with unfamiliar faces
Trying not to collapse while my heart races
None of them know of the hit I took last night
It wasn't even worthy of calling a fight
-Silver Tongued Shadow

So achingly relatable. An important hardship so many of us face, and yet we are always alone when we do. To have been hurt and have no one nearby you know, trust, or who could possibly understand or care enough to possibly understand. To be lonely despite not being alone, to have a heart going faster than the speed of light and trying desperately to keep on a brave face, and know inside yourself that no one here knows at all the pain that lives inside of you.

I feel a little lost, but that’s okay
I can make it another day
-Silver Tongued Shadow

I marvel at your emotional strength. It is only the nerve and sinew found within ourselves that is enough to keep us going when we are at our frailest and many of us can never be strong enough to discover it inside ourselves. It is beautiful and heartbreaking to be lost but to have to be okay. For you to muddle through it and accept difficulties is an inspiration to me and all of those who have felt that.

Love to me
Is about seeing the light inside the one who can only see darkness within
-Silver Tongued Shadow

Such an exquisite thought. A fresh perspective on love that has entirely altered mine.

I’ve never been much of a person. So many mistakes I have already made.
And it is quite too obvious, that no one would care if I was to fade.
-Silver Tongued Shadow

I don’t know if you are writing this about someone else, or yourself or if it is current or a feeling from the past that doesn’t hurt you anymore but if it is yourself, just in case, I want you to know that I would care if you faded. You have made a difference in my life with your poetry and view on the aspects of life, love, reality and dreams. Mistakes ARE what make people. Whatever bundle of flaws you might see in yourself, are like jagged pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Together they make a beautiful picture. If it was just a general comment, it was very well written and many people who DO feel that can find comfort in that sense of empathy reading your work particularly this line. Thank you for writing this.




Dear Silver Tongued Shadow

I hope you never change a thing about yourself or your writing.
-Ember