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Fraser Wiseman Nov 2020
jeans sell for more
with a stone wash
stretching and tearing
gives straight legs
like you a hole
lot more soul
Laiba Sep 2020
It's HIS birthday today
THE MAN who ruiend me
he was meant to be my DADDY
Not my abuser
Why did GOD
Have to create him....
Hannah Jun 2020
They say “use your voice”
What they don’t realize is that my voice is deep within my stomach
And I cannot find it
How can I find the words to explain what I’ve been through
And how I’m feeling when I’m in fear
Fearing I’d only be laughed at
Being afraid that nobody would believe me
And only believe my abuser
How can I compete with someone who is far much older than me
Because I’m just a “child who doesn’t know what she’s talking about”
So the only friend I have is my silence
Because she understands everything I’m going through
And I don’t have to say a word to her
Hello Daisies Aug 2019
AAHHHHHHH
ahhhH
AHH
AH
A
PIECE OF ME IS BITING
AND ITS CRYING INTO MY FLESH
I CANT STOP BEATING MYSELF INTO DEATH

MAKE IT STOP YOU ******* ****
I WANT THE NEEDLES TO STOP PIERCING
I WANT MY GUMS TO STOP BLEEDING
BREATHE DEEPER AND DEEPER
I WANT SOMEONE INSIDE ME
FEEL MY PAIN FOR A CHANGE
WHILE I TAKE YOUR WHORISH PLEASURE

IM SEARCHING FOR TREASURE
ITS BLOOD AND GUTS ANS MEN
TALL DARK DRUGGED UP
GIVE ME A HIGH
I'VE BEEN TOO LOW IN LIFE

IM DISGUSTING
IM MUTANT
IM GRUESOME
TAKE MY ARMS AND BREAK THEM
TAKE MY NECK AND CRACK ME OPEN

**** MY INSIDES
IM ****** UP
MY HOLES ARE BURNT
MY HEART IS GONE
SPIDERS CRAWL UPON ME
I SCREAM AND SEEK SANITY

H E L P
H E L P
H E L
H E
H E HURT ME UNTIL I DIED
I DON'T REMEMEBR BEING BORN
I ONLY KNOW DEATH
AND THE TASTE OF YOUR BREATH

ASHXHXJ[DJDNKDJDM_FN!DN]
Djsksnsn
DksoJSJSNSNS
SKSKSKS
SJ­SISOI
AISSK
Aisji
Fhi
Di
I break down and break down
Into meaningless nonsene.
I pray that one day it'll calm down
And form meaning behind the scrambled
Maybe even the smallest amount of peace
All I can say is please
Oh God please
Not doing well
Shaylie Pryer Aug 2019
So many can never find the words, the feelings,
because if they speak, what they know
It becomes a solidified highlight reel,
and not just a spiel, a tale told in the confines of safety to a person with a ticket that transforms them into the audience.

They devour the reel of desperation and despair,
The hurt child deep inside that starts through the mind, and leaks through the pours of your adult body, it paralyses you with fear, ruins your relationships, destroys the peaceful nights and waking moments.

It slaps you with a ghost hand and phantom pain, reaching from the past to remind you in the present that it still lingers,
they are still there  and they always will be, that it is their job to inflict pain.

Just one moment, one semblance of safety, is when the person with the ticket shows up to your screening, reaches for that ghost hand, and instead of twisting and pushing it away like you always beg, plead and scream to do
they grab the hand, hold it and say:

"This trauma is real, not a show, not a highlight reel, I will guide your scenes, your desperate cries and pleas, and I will help your child heal"
Jai747 Dec 2018
There are cuts and bruises no one sees.
Hurt between the kisses you give to please.

At first we met your affection seemed so deep.
You overwhelmed me into my love sleep.
Adoration was given to and in return.
You found your saviour, but soon your heart would turn.

I was a white knight on a tall hill.
I was happy & confident, I was never still.
My armour was silver, my helm in gold.
I had even become brave and bold.

You were a Princess in a dark cage.
Little did I know it was made by your rage.
Your past full of monsters and a traitor.
How I would regret not seeing the truth until much later.

I came forward and shone a light on the key.
I told you, that you were brave and strong and to let yourself be free.
Joined together burning bright.
I never knew being with someone else could feel so right.

Our love was passion, a blazing fire.
Any sorrow, I thought, was left on the pyre.
But when love burns bright, a lesson learnt.
The greater a love, the easier it is to get burnt.

When some had been hurt to their very core.
It is true, that love, they can accept no more.
A dark side of your character, you kept all too hidden.
Your deepest heart I was kept out and forbidden.
For how can you truly love without being vulnerable.
Meanwhile my love for you was unassailable.

The first few cuts I knew!
Why would you do this?
Even if it was but a few.
When I raised my voice at what was amiss,
You calmed my doubts and sealed them away with a kiss.

For a while all was fine.
But the cuts came again, one at a time.
It was wrong, it was wrong, this I knew.
But my love for you just kept saying; it is all but a few.
You only hurt me like this, when you felt scared and alone.
All would be fine, I said, as long as you knew I was your own.

Any query or doubt that came to my mind.
You brushed it aside for me never to find.
Cuts came deeper than ever before.
Yet I protected you from all others, even as I became sore.

My friends and family, you pushed them away.
By subtle pressure or by storms a-fray.
Again and again, I was never enough.
So you cut me and bruised me and treated me rough.
Never a mark you left on my clear skin.
But inside you tore me apart until I  became thin.

My armour that you once found so bright.
You pointed out every mark and scratch in sight.
Chip, chip away at my very soul.
Because it was all about you at every toll.

You broke my sword and shattered my shield.
Diminished and weakened you cast me on the field.
The monsters you had ran from, were all inside.
They came out to greet me and wash me away with the tide.

You were like a vast ocean, a passionate storm.
But you were wide and shallow, not deep in form.
I stood and I stood amongst the swell.
But what ever I did it could never end well.

You told me of all the people who had let you down,
But battered and broken I still held up your crown,
But in the end the dark empty place inside,
No love could fill it, no matter how hard I tried.

You walked away- back to your cage, saying it was never right.
But what happened to your fair and wonderful knight.
Laying in his armour broken and battered.
So came forth his friends and his family and everyone who mattered.
They took it all away to heal his heart,
But all they found was ash at the start.

As they held the ash in their hands,
An ember they found in the black sands.
They protected it from wind and the storm.
Hoping against hope that one day their knight would be reborn.

At first the light was still.
Twice it nearly flickered to nil.
But caring patience won the day,
With love and protection a spark lit up the grey.
First once and then twice, before born again a tender flame.
Silently in the darkness they whispered his secret name.
The little flame that was lit,
Still fragile and ready to quit.
But with every passing hour,
Little flame rose taller like a tower.
After countless time as a little light,
It Turned to the stars and shone bright,
A blazing fire lighting up the night.

From the shadowed prison bound,
A dark thing wept without a sound.
The fair knight stood once more on a hill.
A blazing light that stood still.
Through the darkness of its own veil,
The creature sat interned and pale.
Waiting for her new knight,
Or a monster she could blame with spite.
All the while she hid her eyes,
Knowing not to look up into the skies.
For high above stood a knight so bright,
His world no longer a terrible blight.
Surrounded by friends, love and glory.
This is the truth, my life, my story.
Not entirely finished it needs work
Kora Sani Aug 2018
"Why don't you love me?"
I owe you no explanation

This happens every time
I'm filled with frustration

My feelings are sacred
They're only mine to hold

I'll tell you if I want
An ordinary man can be so bold

You're not entitled to my heart
You're kind of a loser

Stop thinking with your ****
Such a routine abuser

An unwanted kiss is placed on my lips
My "no" means "no"
Forget the traditional scripts

Your masculinity is showing
And not in a good way

My mind is made up
Please leave it that way

I shouldn't apologize
But look what I'm doing

Another man
Always endlessly pursuing
Jonathan Benham Jan 2018
Tired of feeling so,
like the bludgeoning is false.
Memories,
feel as though they're paraphrased.
Jumping from possess to obsess,
the satire of loathing,
only posses the owner of memory.
Ridiculing self, ridiculing self,
righteously juxtaposing pain with
a tyrant.
The one who mourns being one.
Passion has lost its fashion,
but what does it qualify as?
A pained soul with another?
A pained soul destroying another?
Realize this,
the memory changes,
it becomes vague.
But,
does it lose validity?
You're the one who suffers.
No the one who made you.
Treat the end of pain,
like the end of yourself.
A lost,
and dreary,
memory,
not seen clearly.
Britney Lyn Nov 2017
I don't like being called "good girl" anymore.
Not because I don't like the way you say it, or why you're saying it. No.
I don't like being called "good girl" because of a man.
I met him at a party, my friend ditched me.
I was watching everyone around me relax and have fun, but I was so tense.
He must have picked up on my weakness, like a predator to prey.
He handed me a drink and kept me company, he said I looked nervous.
He told me to relax and to take a hit off his joint.
I didn't want to be there anymore, but I tried to take his advice.
We sat on the floor near the double doors and he told me I still looked nervous.
He said I had no reason to be that he'd never let anything happen to me.
I just laughed because he only just met me.
Next thing I remember I wasn't feeling too good, my head was dizzy...no cloudy, and the floor was the ceiling.
I remember his eyes on me, so hungry.
I remember his hands on me, whereas mine were incapable of moving.
He couldn't meet my eyes and I couldnt remember where we were or how we got there, but it wasn't by the double doors anymore.
I remember noises, the dim lighting around us, I tried to focus on anything and everything else.
I was screaming, but I don't actually know if the noise came out.
I remember the hot tears that slid down my face as he slid over my body.
I was a toy, I couldn't do anything, I was a puppet to his whim.
He stoked my face occasionally and said I was a good girl, that I didn't need to be nervous, that I was a good girl, to just take it.
I remember wailing, his hand covering my mouth, my lips bruising, my body throbbing.
I haven't seen myself the same since, there wasn't anyone I felt safe with, not a hand that didn't feel like his.
I get sick at the thought of him, at the thought of that act he forced me to commit.
I didn't know his name but I knew his face because it haunts my dreams.
I scare easy now, I want to hide but sleep can't even save me.
I didn't want to be a good girl, I never wanted to be a good girl.
So please...please.
Don't call me one.
I don't think I'll ever be able to read this poem again, it's too much for me.
G J Oct 2017
I would be lying
if I told you
that you were special to me,
because whether its
you
or
him
holding me in the earliest hours
of the morning
the only thing that matters to me
is that
I am being held,
love to me is much less
significant
much less personal
than it used to be
if its anything to me at all
its feeling desired
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