My family and friends sing your praises.
They never see how your fist raises.
Your quiet and well behaved with visitors.
But loud and violent with me, one of your prisoners.

You could be a professional actor.
They don't even suspect how you attack her.
Wish you weren't so hidden and smart.
Maybe they'd see the pain you impart.

My teary eyes and silent pleas.
Just don't seem to make you agree.
My suffering is present.
But to you all ideas of it are pleasant.

I wish I could cry harder now.
The past pain seemed only the starter, ow.
The shadows on your face they are getting darker.
God please send me a knight in shining armor.

when did i lose my wings of girlhood
my cherub face grown sharp the visage of my mother
when did i lose my halo of girlhood
soft botticelli blonde of youth grown dark
when did i lose my robe of girlhood
the hair growing from me in itchy patches resembling man
is that when you stopped loving me?
no longer the babe, the little child of sun
jumping into daddy’s lap
does my reflection scare you?
the face of the monster, the *****
the wicked woman who tainted your heart
dark changeling taken form of nightmare
who haunts you, seeping guilt
the confines of marriage you broke
and left me to rot, a house of horrors and nicotine
of cat **** and suicide letters
a big green basket, plastic, decorative holes in the side
the pill bottles i count: 1, 2, 3, 50!
proud i can count that high
and mother says, “take this one”
like candy on my small tongue
my icarus moment of floating, feeling bumps on popcorn ceiling
falling back
down
down
down
until i am 17, looking in the mirror
my prozac a taunting smile, knowing my throat will close from a fear i can’t remember
the choking struggle of getting better
mothers eyes stare back at me, her ghost a reflection of my heartache
and i realize i was never floating
and we both share the guilt

My body is not my own
Pass it along to anyone
And my heart doesn’t live inside
I have nowhere to hide it
And the places I’ve called home
They are not my home
I think I used to feel differently
but now I don’t know

You always had a place to go
You always had someone to hold
I had to listen to you fight at night
And now I’m alone

I know you never loved me
Sometimes I still want you to touch me
Down in the trenches
You always knew what to provoke
so I’d never come to my senses

And it’s mostly all my fault
It would be easier to say I blame you
I was too young
I didn’t know
I was hurt
It wasn’t my decision
but it was mine to make
Still,
I can’t take it back
I cannot escape
It has nothing to do with you
anymore, anyways

It all crescendos to inaction
And floods my interactions
It all feels too big
It’s in a cloud
above my head
And I can’t reach it
The intangible
weight of grief
I am a miserable
ghost of me

I won't ever let you escape from my brain
You're bound to my mind, pulled tough and restrained
A mere trace of your scent I won't ever forget
Not saying I love you is my biggest regret

I miss you dearly, your laughter, your perfume, your face
I missed you even more when you went to your mums place
Reeking of *****, I was always drunk and rude
But it was always forgiveness instead of sued

Looking back on our past it's clear to see
That you were the only women meant for me
The only way to see you once more is to pull it
So I can't wait to eat dinner with you, after I eat this bullet

I wake with a start.
Where am I?

Heart racing—
beeping in the distance getting faster, louder.

Try to **** out of this unfamiliar bed,
tubes hold me in place,
stinging deep in my skin as I move.

My first instinct is to rip them out,
try to run.

But I can’t feel my legs.
It feels like they haven’t moved in years.

I can’t run. So I just look.

It’s so... white.
White floors.
White sheets.
White walls.
Smells sterile—
like antiseptic,
floor cleaner.
A hospital.

Why am I here?
Think—
it all rushes back
like I’m being pulled under the unrelenting waves.
Not water this time though—
memories.

The picnic.
At the top of the cliff.
Wind in my hair, salty from the sea far below.
The spread of all my favorite foods—
watermelon, iced tea, gummy bears.
His hand on the back of my neck,
the side of my face,
his lips so soft against mine.
Melting me from the inside out.

My smile so bright.
So secure. So loved.

He wanted to show me something.
Took me to the edge of the cliff.
Down on one knee.

The ring—
three blue sapphires.
My favorite color.
The color of his eyes.

I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
One more kiss.
Not sweet this time—
urgent.

His hands around my waist,
pulling me as close to him as possible.
His tongue lashing at my mouth.
He’s never kissed me like this before.
But I trust him.

I trusted him.

Pull back—
his eyes are different.
Colder.
I start to ask what’s wrong—
then he pushes me.
Right
off.

Falling.
Falling.
Falling.

It takes a lifetime.
I don’t want to reach the bottom.

But I do—
because no one loves me.
I thought he loved me.
But he pushed me.

Why?
What did I do?
Why?

My tears are falling faster than my body.
I don’t want to survive.
He didn’t want me to survive.

I hit the water—
but it feels more like concrete.
Unforgiving.
Breaking.

Isn’t water supposed to be soft?

Finally I’m sinking.
Letting go.
I’d rather be in the water
than out of it with these feelings.
This confusion.

If I just sink, I won’t have to wonder.
Be crushed by the water
instead of his false words.

Relive all the things I let him do
because I thought he loved me.

Rethink every interaction.
Wonder—why?
Why?
Why?

No more wondering.
The waves are unrelenting.
Pulling me where they want me to go—
down, to this side, to that side.

Breaking my already broken body.
But there’s no pain.
Just ice.
And blue.

Blue.
Blue.

So much blue.
Bright blue.
Lightning blue.
Sizzling my skin.

Their weeping
***** the air from the room,
extinguishing my fire,
demanding my silence.

Their weeping
drowns me in doubt.
Am I good?
Am I cruel?
Am I wrong?

Before I can even name my pain,
I’m already
reassuring them,
soothing them,
carrying them—
while I smolder quietly beneath.

I sit in my rocking chair,
sobbing in my hand,
screaming into a pillow full of rage—
while the loved ones surround you,
clapping,
your hand held out to me,
like a performance.

Fathers-in-law:
“She read it in a book.”
Dismissed before the first page turned.

Sisters-in-law:
“I got a shotgun to my face.”
Pain is a competition
they think they’ve already won.

Mother-in-law:
“It’s his choice.”
As if mine never mattered.

Mother:
“His job is more important.”
My worth calculated
in salaries and silence.
Fathers:
“It’s too late to say no”
Consent stolen
Before I understood

Brother:
“Words hurt, you just have to get over it.”
The bruises unseen
are the ones that bleed the longest.

Therapist:
“Forgive or divorce.”
No in-between.
No room to breathe.

Child:
“It’s your fault he’s not here.”
Guilt stitched into lullabies.

Husband:
“Do you want to go to the mental hospital?”
As if that’s the only place I belong.



But I am not your villain.
Not your scapegoat anymore.

They surround him with applause—
but I am the one still standing
in the ashes
they all pretend aren’t burning.

To prove you care,
don’t reach for me.
Respect my silence.
Honor my space.
Let me rock—
alone,
in peace.

She’s learning to trust herself—
her intuition, her body, her voice.
She’s starting to listen
instead of silence.

Her boundaries are clearer.
She may say no more often
or walk away.

She’s not afraid of her emotions,
even if they’re painful.
She feels them fully
instead of stuffing them down or lashing out.

She’s softening and strengthening at once.
There’s more compassion,
but also more firmness.

She lets herself rest—
not just physically,
but mentally and emotionally.

She doesn’t chase love.
She receives it,
especially from herself.

She sheds old skins—
guilt, shame, roles
that were never hers.
She lets them fall off her,
little by little.

Her joy returns in pieces—
a laugh,
a creative spark,
and moments of peace.
She treasures them.

It doesn’t always look graceful.
Sometimes it’s messy, angry, quiet, or chaotic.
But healing is not about appearance.
It’s about being real.