it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

every day, it gets worse.
every day and those after, i am once again told,
“it’s your fault”
i know, every day,
that they are not wrong.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

every day and those after,
i lose myself,
more and more.
i’m rotting and
disgusting.
i am lost
and i am scared.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

every day and those after,
i am reminded.
“he felt more anxiety than you ever will,”
she says,
“they left him waiting, thinking his life was over,
for an entire weekend.”
a weekend? ha, amature.
i’ve been knowing.
my life is over, and has been
for seven months.
he got off free,
i got a life sentence.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

be careful- don’t forget!!
he is not a ******,
you are not a victim.
he’s just a boy,
in the moment.
you know how they are.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

maybe i’m just lying.
what if i’m wrong?
and i’m just
a product of what has already happened to me?
since it is my fault,
since i still don’t know how to take accountability,
maybe it’s not even real.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

in church, they talk about ****** purity.
am i going to hell for this?

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

his hands are still all over me.
all
over
me.
i tried to scrub it all away,
the flesh came off my body.
he still found a way
to write his name
on
my bones.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

i can’t look in the mirror anymore.
it’s never me.
every time i look,
it’s always someone new.
a grotesque figure.
i can’t stand to see myself.

it has been seven months since my ****.
it has been seven months since my ****.

my face often becomes numb.
i throw my hands under boiling water and still feel
nothing.

seven months.
that’s
212 days,
5088 hours.
i don’t know who i am
anymore.

i hate the way you hurt me,
the way you make me cry.
i hate the way you hurt me
with that sly look in your eye.

i hate your stupid smile,
the awful grin you use.
when you see the way i look at you,
you always seem amused.

i hate the way you make me write
about you every day.
i hate the way you yell,
i hate every word you say.

i hate the way you hurt me
with every bruise you leave.
bruises on my soul
for everyone to see.

i hate the way you dress.
i hate the way you do your hair.
i hate the way you try to touch me;
it leaves a constant scare.

i hate the way you look at me.
i wish you were never there.
i hate the way you keep me up at night,
sweat collecting in my hair.

i hate the way you hurt me

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

one time, he asked to finger me. and i said no. but it's my fault. it's my fault.

we were at his house. originally, he had asked to just eat me out. he asked me do i remember the time he had wanted to do it before, i said yeah, i remember, but i need to ***. i'll **** in your mouth. haha. okay, so can i finger you instead? no, i'd rather you not, but he persisted. come onnnnn!! please?

okay, so yes. i said yes. that is was fine. i told him i was alright with it. he doesn't know what he did. he doesn't know what he did.

did i want it? no! but i did say yes. that means he's innocent. it's my fault.

we were playing minecraft. i asked can i go to the restroom, he said yeah, so i headed upstairs. his parents were home. i could have asked for help.

the deed was done. i had asked him to stop- it hurt- so he eventually did. i was in pain.

we're still friends.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

summer going in to 8th grade. my boyfriend liked to touch me... a lot. he was always really mean to me. i'd beg him to stop, but a nervous laugh always followed. he never took me seriously. the abuse continued until i finally gained the courage to break up with him.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

half the school has seen me naked. i don't know how to say no. my body doesn't feel like mine anymore. all yours, for you to take advantage of.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

i have an eating disorder that tears me apart piece by piece. i just want to be perfect so you will LOVE ME. there's nothing more to me than a disgusting, rotting, body.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

one night, i chugged ***** until i vomited all over the carpet at etc coffee house.

i just wanted to feel okay.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

my sister got ***** in the closet next to my room. i thought she was just having ***. i got in the shower so i didn't have to hear the noise.

i could have gone in there and stopped him.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

one time in middle school, i cut myself and someone reported it to the guidance counselor. i begged her not to tell my mom so she never did.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

i told my friend that i got sexually assaulted. he made jokes about it and laughed. i went home and cried.

we're the girls, we're the girls, we're the girls.

i feel like i'm rotting
from the inside out
i just really wish
not everyone would doubt
me

i'm rotting, can't you see?
he hurt me

he
hurt
me.

i told her,
she said
“do you want to take any legal action?”
i said
no
because i didn’t want to hurt you

i told her,
she said
it’s okay,
that people would want to explore my body.

i told you,
no,
i don’t want to do that anymore

i told you
no
and
you laughed.

look at me. look at me, look at me, look at me. i want to be noticed.

please, don't ignore me.
i miss attention.

before, i used to hate being noticed. now, i'll beg you to just LOVE ME. i want to feel LOVED.

validate me.

so long did i ignore
the red flags,
i avoided hearing the music
for what it was.

perhaps,
when you’re deafened by love,
you cant hear the dismal chords.
i couldn’t hear the mismatched notes
over the melody.

through broken-down vibrato,
i learned to love your song.
i listened to you on repeat,
until i memorized its entirety.

when i would listen enough,
i could hear the imperfections.
i heard your words,
i grew to hate the music.

i miss smoking,
but i think i miss you more.

saccharine eyes.
oh,
his beautiful, saccharine eyes.
ones i could get lost in
forever.

i still hear his footsteps walking down the hall
if only i wasn’t stuck
being my daddy’s doll

stop, stop!!
i know you hear me call.
but shut up and be pretty,
stay my daddy’s doll

i want it to end,
please stop!
it isn’t fair!
i don’t like it
when daddy pulls my hair.

if i hide under the covers
and pretend that i’m not here,
do you think my daddy
would even come near?

i still hear his footsteps walking down the hall
if only i wasn’t stuck
being my daddy’s doll.

all i know is noise.
i surround myself with it,
constantly.
sometimes i…
write songs;
listen to music.
leave my games on the title screen for hours
so i’m not left
in silence.
but,
on rare occasion,
it gets to be
too much.

at first, all was well.
i was reminded of mozart’s fugue, (in d, if you must know).
i loved the way everything
built up,
the way it
blended in.
i was transported to the orchestra- my home.

i feel:
content.
happy.
overwhelmed- but only in the best way.
all quickly vanished.

soon, the arms of anxiety began to wrap around me,
suffocating me in its tight embrace.
and don’t say i won’t remember, because
i do.
i remember…
the strawberry puff bar
my first time sneaking out
his car
his voice tone
i remember
everything

i couldn’t begin to tell you why a simple song could bring up such intense emotion,
because i don’t know where i’d start.
perhaps, it was the growing anticipation.
the suspense.
i couldn’t wait for the song to be over,
just like that night.

i stopped breathing, everything paused.
nothing is real
anymore.

i hate pedophiles. i don't care what you want to deem yourself as, if you're attracted to a minor of any sort, you're a ******* ****. you always will be. don't even try to change it. you're hurting literal children. doesn't even matter if they're a teenager. neither does gender. you are traumatizing a literal child. they'll look back on you and think, "wow. that really changed me, and for the worst."

if you get off to ****, you're an awful human being. you are literal ****. you like to watch people be hurt like that? maybe it takes an experience like that to change your views. maybe it takes actually being ***** to understand. it changes you forever and leaves so much pain. mentally and physically. the damage cannot be undone, no matter how long it is after. you think i ENJOYED being ignored when i said no? you think ****** assault is just a cute little fetish? *******. do whatever it takes to never speak to any victims. you'll probably ******* to it later.

when someone tells you their pronouns, do the world a favor and RESPECT that. if this person is trans, don't call them by their dead name. don't call them the opposite pronouns of what they want to be called. it's awful. gender dysphoria eats me alive every ******* day, and you can't take time to even think about how that weighs me down? i want to **** myself on a regular basis because i just don't feel right anymore. my binder doesn't even help sometimes. i look at myself and i know i'm just wrong. wrong body. wrong EVERYTHING. i don't like getting made fun of. being trans/non-binary/whatever you are isn't some cute little trend or a choice.

stop fetishizing trans men. and trans women too! trans MEN (key word, MEN) aren't some cute little uwu soft boys. we aren't something you can just play with. trans women aren't "sissies" and most certainly are not trans just for your pleasure. as a trans man, i know how it feels to be fetishized. i am a man.
you can't just make someone "not trans". calling them their dead name/dead pronouns to change anything. nothing will change the absolute torment they experience on a daily basis. as bad as it sounds, we can't help but suffer. gender dysphoria is a curse. understand that.

i'm 15. i'm a trans male. i'm not your toy.

early wake
it's time to take
another nap

cigarettes dangling
calmly, ever-so-gently
from my fingertips

a tomb
the one i love exists
in my memory.
i suddenly remember.

i want to scream as you plunge deeper in my soul
slowly, slowly
losing control

the lips of lovers loving
a feeling nearly unfamiliar
you have fast lips,
slow down a bit

Judah.

Five letters.

One sentence that changed everything.

One moment spent,
Simply admiring you
Cuddling on your couch.

Two syllables in your name

Two syllables to make my heart sing

Three words
Simple words.
I love you.

Four.
Fourteen. The day that I’m writing this poem.

Five.
Five letters in your name.

Judah.

slam poetry
slam poetry, like the way i can't get out of bed in the morning,
as in
showering is too difficult a task to accomplish, because
you're too tired after long nights of tossing and turning,
because every time you go to get undressed,
you remember.

slam poetry, like the way the noose went around his neck
wrapping tightly until the silence called his name
while his mother held him and cried

slam poetry, like the way i cried
when they told me the news no child wants to hear
that my daddy's heart stopped, and they couldn't bring him back

slam poetry, like the way i said "i love you"
as in
every part of you reminded me of a beautiful haiku
one i could never write

slam poetry, like the way i slam my head into my pillow
after school every day
screaming to drown out everything they've said to me
like the way i slam my door when i'm angry
because the only thing i know
is noise

slam poetry, like the way your words hurt me

slam poetry like the way i don't know how to write a poem

slam poetry, like the way
i'll never feel whole
again

cross my heart and hope to die
stick some scissors in my eye
and i won’t beg, i won’t cry
until your death, i won’t die
as i wallow in my pain
your words are sweet like sugarcane
comfort me with pretty lies
i love you

the train rolled relentlessly
chattering rhythmically along the rails.

skinny children,
business men.

the ripe smell of tired bodies,
unkempt,
unloved.

no one would dare
scream

i told you i was busy. and i WAS busy, just in a way you would never understand. busy trying to forget about all of this, busy trying to remember it all. i was busy loving you while hatred ran through my veins. busy trying to convince myself that it would, indeed, be okay. that it’s MY fault you hurt me.

you occupy so much of my mind.

memories of you haunt me, lingering in the back of my mind every time i lay my head to sleep. get out of my head. get out of my head.

She awakens the moon with a consonance of notes, her beauty shining in the night air. She could hear him standing near her, speaking softly in the silence. His words soothing with her sweet voice playing in the background.

She looks like heaven, but tastes like hell. Remnants of her kiss burn like embers on his lips. He hears the flames hiss as ashes land on his hand, suddenly enveloped in what one could only describe as love.

one’s gaze caresses
unforgotten outlines
hesitation to live
again

"i love you...."
and a list of other things i shouldn't say

every morning when i wake
i'm greeted by the smell of stomach aches
i wish i was not awake

each night when it is time
to rest my sleepy head
i often lay awake
and wish that i was dead
pray the lord my soul to take

every morning when i wake
it's still the smell of stomach aches

i hurt myself from time to time
i get on my knees
i beg and cry
for someone to hear me
my pain inside
it tends to eat me alive

someone see
how badly i want to die
someone help
i'd **** myself so easily
if only i had the guts to try

i love you. OH HOW I LOVE YOU !!!

drive me insane, go ahead. i'll let you.

asterisks.
your name shall forever remain in a number of asterisks. you make me so miserable.

one indirect post after another. each one hurts a little more than the last. i'm not mentally prepared to see you again. please, just escape my brain.

i wish you had never hurt me. i wish i was never grounded, maybe that would have stopped you from leaving. maybe, just maybe. you were the best i ever had. i was the happiest with you. i love love loved you !! i think i still do.

please tell me those pretty lies once more

what is your love like?

does it smell like cigarettes,
and feel like home?
would your hands fit in mine
perfectly?

does it look like a sunset,
and sound like my favorite song?
is your voice gentle
when you tell me
“i
         love
                         you”
?

my love is intense,
i suffocate.
are
            you
ready?

will you leave me
when i become too much?

my love is rotting bodies,
together,
just trying to stay alive.

will you leave
when i become
too much?

i swear to you,
i’ll be fine
(and an assortment of other lies)

They say the first stage of grief is denial. Then comes anger. Then bargaining, depression, and acceptance. During these times, your brain can’t seem to come to an accord. These components make me feel miserable. The transition between each isn’t much better. It’s a difficult concept to understand, but after a while the pieces all come together and you finally understand.

April 16, 2016

Saturday, April 16th. He’s gone. He’s gone and there’s nothing that can bring him back. He’s gone and there’s nothing that can bring him back.

Fast forward.

April 18, 2016

Monday, April 18th. A serene energy flows through my therapist’s office. I assume she had called me up here to address my various everyday antics, but I got the least expected. She pulls out her phone for an emergency phone call. Something bad has clearly happened. My heart beat slowly grows faster and faster. I eye her carefully as she calls my grandpa’s number. It begins to ring.

What happened?

It’s Cullen, I am told. No. It can’t be. They’re lying. This couldn’t have happened; he didn’t deserve it. The main question on my mind:

Why?

It’s hard to keep my thoughts benign at this point. To be frank, I want to deface the skin on my wrists. I want to scream, to cry. Anything to have him back. Nothing I think is rational. It’s like an infinite sadness is taking over. I just lost you. I miss you already.

Rewind.

December 25th, 2014

Thursday, December 25th, 2014. Play dough race car tracks and tiny guitars. Purple dolphins and video games. Just a few of the things I remember from that cherished night. A night I would live over and over, just so I can see him again.

That nice was a bonanza of happiness.

Thursday, December 25th, 2014. The last time I saw him.
Rewind

Georgia.

Climbing waterfalls, catching tadpoles. The precious moments of my childhood spent with you. I wish for every moment of it back.

I remember catching tadpoles. We got little butterfly nets, and would go hiking and occasionally dip them in little ponds we came across. I remember the little bullfrog tadpole I caught, one with its legs fully grown, bigger than all the other ones.

I could sit here and shout memories at you, but that would take up far too much space.

Fast forward.

I’m angry. I miss him, and I’m angry at the world for letting him go. My feelings become a burden on my shoulders, only to be let out on the people that I loved most. Truth be told, I was scared I’d lose them too. I would do anything to have him back.

Sadness begins to overcome me. I missed the funeral. My only chance to truly say goodbye. I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. And please, don’t forget…

I love you, Cullen, big much.

even after everything
i wouldn’t go back
to change a thing

don’t say i did it to hurt you
because, really, i didn’t
my only intention
was to hurt myself

this isn't really a poem. i just need somewhere that i can get my feelings out without feeling judged.

i feel like garbage. i had an overall good day, but for some reason, tonight turned to ****. i don't even know what's wrong. i just need a ******* hug, dude. that's really all i want. i feel like i have no one to turn to and it just... hurts.

mesmerized with the sway of my hips,
lies flowing gently off of his lips.

simple lies that keep me alive;
i love you like you love my thighs.

soft kisses landing on my skin,
a feeling never to be felt again.

you hold my hand, and suddenly,
it all feels grand.

sitting here
mesmerized.

i miss your gentle kiss, but lately
i've been kissing pill bottles more.

when i met you,
i created a person i wanted you to be.
but even when you turned out to not
be the one i wanted
i still
loved you

why would i say "i love you"?
maybe it's because you remind me of poetry.
i love you and every little rhyme,
i cherish every syllable of you.

i would say "i love you" because your beauty could outshine every rain any day.
i say "i love you" because, simply put,
i do

hi, i'm currently suffering from the worst case of writer's block i've ever experienced. i have no motivation right now, but when i do, i'll be sure to post :)

depression.
i feel the arms of darkness slowly wrapping around me, suffocating me with each tight squeeze.

depression.
i can't sleep, and no, i won't count sheep. because i can't.
but what i can count,
is all the reasons i don't want to be here.
i can't sleep, but for some reason,
that's the only thing keeping me alive.

i told you i was busy
and i WAS busy, just in a way you would never understand
busy trying to convince myself it would all be okay, when in reality,
it wouldn't

i told you i was busy, you said
"yeah,
right"
busy talking to you, while the arms of depression squeezed me into its tight hug,
enveloping me in darkness that i can never escape.

i told you i was busy
and you thought
i lied

a sweet river runs red
down my wrists
onto my bed
the things i do for a second of bliss
a simple thing,
an angel kiss

put red roses on my grave
i want to be buried in art
and, well, to put it simply
you broke
my heart

my mind is full of stars that i can't put into constellations,
all empty words and hopeless destinations
if everything would fall back into place
soon we'd be two standing still in time
with nothing in our way

i love you, but maybe that's too soon
it feels as if i met you only this afternoon
and even if that's the case,
i have nothing else
to say

being honest with yourself is that little devil
sitting on your shoulder.
you know it’s not your fault, but that’s so hard
to admit.

you blame yourself to please everyone.
sometimes,
it almost becomes believable.
and you think,

“what if i don’t blame myself?
what would she say?
is it really my fault?”

being honest with yourself is that little devil
sitting on your shoulder.
honest with yourself, meaning
calling yourself a **** for things out of your control.

it’s almost like other people’s opinions matter
more than your own feelings.

honesty isn’t always the best policy.

why couldn’t i have just kept my mouth shut?