Chloe 5h

Pink Hotel

and behind some bitter, white picket fence
she sat
actually, she stalled.

Tapped her feet on the pavement, cuddled the curb in her ripped dress.
She wore pink in her hair,
little slivers of an innocent, chapped lip.

a dying pink.

The fence creaked with the interrupting wind.
and she stood, danced across the street.

cracked hands gripping frigid door handles,
come on in.

Torn garments, wisps of pink flying from her head,
she felt pretty in pink,
third grade, mother-just-bought-a-new-bow pretty,
innocent, dad-bought-me-glittery-shoes pretty.

Painless pretty.
Sane pretty.

No more
he-just-wants-to-see-me-bare pretty,
he-gives-me-lots-of-drinks pretty,

Worthless pretty.
Lost pretty.

Pink matter that drips onto a glass floor,
everyone can see through it,
through her.

What is it, woman?
she gave her hand to a solo cup,
So alone.
Pink drink, it’s good for you,
good to me.

To the third floor,
and lay down.

do you like the pink?

He always said I looked good with pink.

-C.M Aldecoa

Living in a college town, I notice how many girls use cosmetics, fashion, alcohol and drugs to express themselves. Even the darkest parts. And how easy it is to stick to bad habits that hurt you in the end. Pink Hotel, in all its metaphors, revolves around this "pink hotel," pink being this representative color of innocence, of what beauty should be. A color that attracts girls, which is why the hotel is pink. A welcoming home for girls that allow themselves to be dazzled and used by men that see them as just the color pink, and not for who they are. A sad truth, but the truth.
Leila Shearer May 25

Alienated shell
Open and bare
Worn lining
Clawed shreds
Impaired illusion
Adorned dull
Aquamarine shards


The product of emotional abuse... Ruin.
sch 7h

You sat upon your throne
made up of empty cigarette cartons and crushed beer cans.
You thought yourself so mighty and entitled.
Yet, you didn't see it coming, did you?
I left the pathetic kingdom you ruled and enslaved me in.
Like a shadow of death, I gave you one last kiss
and everything as you knew it came









This goes back to my life a few years ago when I was still a bit more naive than I am now.

Your need for control seeped out slowly,
like an unnoticed ceiling leak
Everything is fine,
until it no longer is

mythie 20h

I hate you.
I hate everything that you do.
I hate your smile and your starry eyes.
I hate when I'm with you, time just flies.

I hate how you're never here.
I hate how you always seem to disappear.
I hate your toothy grin.
I hate when I'm with you my head starts to spin.

I hate how you yell and smash bottles all night.
I hate when I wake up covered in love-bites.
I hate how you tease me and tell me you love me.
I hate when you can't calm down and it takes more than just a plea.

I hate how you're violent and stay up for hours.
I hate when you kiss me and cuddle me during showers.
I hate when we play board games and I'd always win.
I hate how you're covered head-to-toe in sin.

I hate when you touch me and my heart starts to pound.
I hate when we dance and you spin me right round.
I hate when you laugh and tickle my ears.
I hate the fact that it's been like this for years.

I hate when you hit me and tell me you're sorry.
I hate when you do it the next day without a single worry.
I hate when we kiss and it makes me feel alive.
I hate when our love dies and it suddenly revives.

I hate you with every fibre of my being.
I hate when you pretend to care about my wellbeing.
But most of all I hate myself.
I hate how I take your love right off of the shelf.

I hate how I love kissing you.
I hate how I love everything you do.
I hate when you hit me and choke me and bruise me.
But I hate the fact that I can't even flee.

I love you, I do.
I really, really love you.
I know I'm dying, slowly but surely.
But I promise, 'till my last dying breath, that I will love you purely.

Kaity 1d

When my rapist texted me after 3 years of silence
My body shattered
I've spent all this time picking up the pieces glueing them into place like a puzzle that doesn't quite fit
You swing at me with a hammer
Chipping away at me like the paint I chipped off the deck with my grandpa summers before I met you.
I am the opposite of forgiveness
Sharp teeth, howls of rage, and jagged edges
If our bodies turned red where unwanted fingers like claws, carved into us, I would look like I was bleeding out
I don't know when I became a space to be filled
I have made you as ghost story as possible
Using you only as a joke at my own behalf or cautionary tale.
When you're only a story I can close at night and pull out when I want to, I can pretend you've left no scars on this forsaken body of mine
But when you text me out of no where, I find you've taken my autonomy once again.
I find that I'm once again stuck between your teeth.
Every probing text is gasoline that I swallow with a smile.
You think I turn to ice because I have frozen.
I am ice turned fire
And I'll burn the whole damn world with me if I have to.
My body is constantly in fight or flight, rigid with the possibility of springing into action.
Never quite relaxed enough to forget past sins made against me.
When people ask me, with sneers on their faces, if every adams apple I see reminds me of a fist, I tell them no. Because one of the faces that haunts me has deep brown eyes and soft skin, like my own.
She hid claws under royal blue painted nails and cinnamon scented gum.

I am cursed
by those around me
i did not choose
hands that put me down
with their selfish rage
i did not ask to be
a child cursed
again and again
year after year
who could blame me
for the mistakes i've made
before i was born
the pain began

I walk
Shoulders back and spine straight
My eyes
I convey power in my gait.

She walks
Shoulders hunched and neck bent
Her eyes
As if searching for where lost power went.

I see
I quietly meet a strangers eye
I smile
With warmth
And compassion for every passer by.

She sees
But it's unlikely that you see her
She tiptoes
And blends
Avoiding every glance or questioning stare.

I make
I laugh when gleeful and shout when mad
I sing
And hold no shame in crying when sad.

She stays
Noiseless in pain and in harm
Hiding messages
Through the bruises on her arms.

I stood
In fire
And stepped out again unscathed
I sail
Lakes of sorrow
Where I once, in times passed, bathed.

She stood
In fire
And screamed inside as flesh fell
And hated
For the silent cry she could not yell.

I know
This girl
In different eras, we meet again and again
And our contrast could almost be funny
If we were not, actually, one
And the same.

My pit flew things through air

I wasn't there enough to care.

Her image haunted my thoughts but i knew nothing

And I wasn't there enough to care.

I was some where far off,
some where terrible still
but oh so different than where she held me.
I wasn't her pride.
I wasn't in her presence
even when i was.

Some where far off
I wasn't there enough to care.
and when her reign came down on me
i wasn't there.
So i tried not to care.
I dug my claws into my world.
I held my place
if I wasn't there
I couldn't care.
And I still don't look her in the eyes
but its not my head that hurts any more
its my gut.
and its my pride.
Its my heart that's solid inside.
Its those thoughts
if i could die.

This poem is about my mom, and enduring the pain of growing up with a narcissus mother...
Subin 1d

she tiptoes,
graceful steps, no sound when her feet touch the ground
-- like her feet are feathers and she’s the bird, tied down
she tiptoes
every movement of hers is subtle and subdued and almost slow
for no reason but to be quiet – ah, there it is
she did it wrong
she apologizes but—it’s never okay
there is a circle around her wrist,
it’s a bracelet of distrust, discolored and discernible
too much so maybe
and she tiptoes
arched up like she’s taking flight but then she never does
black markings on her arm like a collar; holding her back
holding her down or maybe just holding her
-- in place, unmoving and unchanging away from the torrent of time
or right in there, aging her fast and soon she’ll be unable
to fly
she tiptoes

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