My name is Elizabeth,
and you think you know me.
You've seen me every day,
since the year I turned three.

I am quiet, and reserved,
and smarter than most,
but my quiet demeanor,
turns me into a ghost.

I'm easily forgotten,
with all the ruckus and noise.
The laughing and shouting,
from the other girls and boys.

If I could speak up,
I'd tell you the truth.
I'd tell you he's lying,
about how I got this bruise.

If I wasn't so afraid,
to tell you my side,
then maybe you'd help me,
if you knew that he lied.

He says it's my fault,
that he has to teach me like this,
but I know better now,
that you don't teach with fists.

He teaches mommy too,
and she's afraid just like me,
but she still hides the marks,
so that no one will see.

I would love to make friends,
to run, laugh, and play.
But all the kids tease me,
for acting this way.

Maybe if you taught words,
like neglect, and abuse.
Then I'd know it was wrong,
and wouldn't be so confused.

But today I'll stay quiet,
just like mommy said.
Even though she was crying,
and her eyes were all red.

Daddy tells us he loves us,
that we're his princess, and queen.
But the brown bottle stuff,
makes him angry and mean.

Maybe if I took the brown bottle,
and poured it down the sink.
Then daddy would be happy,
and be able to think.

It won't hurt to try,
I'll do it after school.
Then maybe daddy can love us,
without being so cruel.

My name is Elizabeth,
and I stay out of sight.
I'm too scared to tell you,
but if you asked me, I might.

Existing in a house with an alcoholic isn't quite existing. It's tiptoeing around corners and walking on broken glass. It's waiting for the bomb to drop with the closest shelter miles out of reach.

I try to shed my skin but it sticks like glue. It covers me in shame and pain and the irreversible smell of ***** and *****.

I don't exist. I just simply am.

I am the daughter of a drunkard.

I am covered in guilt.

I am.

I mold myself to fit into a box that's half my size. I rip my own words out of my own mouth so I don't hurt the feeling of the people who have mutilated mine.  

I haven't existed yet, but someday I will.

My life has been a garden
For flowers than seeds
And more weeds that that

I grow
And I climb
And I begin to wither when the sunlight fades

You should know all of this
But maybe you don't
Maybe you were so blinded by the sun
That you forgot to water me

I pulled the weeds out myself
Thorns and burs and splinters
But I planted my own seeds

My hands may be filthy with dirt
But yours are covered in demons

And maybe that's okay
Because I will be able to wash mine off

I once compared myself to a flower,
But flowers seem to wither apart.
They cannot withstand the cold,
Nor can they endure a dark heart.

Flowers exhibit fragility like nothing else,
And that is how I viewed myself.
Looking back on my life, now,
I see the sins I have kept on a shelf.

I see the things I have hidden from the world,
The traits that sleep deep inside of me.
Attributes of which I should be ashamed,
Truths I will never set free.

The monster which taunted me,
It has left a blatant mark.
Pulling me so close,
And placing its hand upon my heart.

I fear that is what I have become,
Not a flower, nor a part of nature at all.
The changes that I have made,
They have led me to my downfall.

You were depressed so you decided to push away any woman who might love you and your idiosyncrasies after "she" left
I was depressed so I kept clinging on to every man who asked me what my favorite band was after "he" left

You were sad that she moved on so you secretly hated every woman who reminded you of her in the slightest
I was sad that he moved on so I not so secretly tried to make out with  every man who made me laugh

You met a woman who made you smile and made you hopeful and instead of running to her, you ran away
I met a man who made me laugh and made me question my goals and instead of making him love me, I scared him off

You turned your frustration into art
I turned my frustration into alcoholism

You made sure to keep me along for the ride on the thinnest piece of string you could weave together
(after all it feels good to know you have a backup plan)

I made sure to keep paying you the utmost attention and sending you the slightest reminders that I am still there
(after all it feels good to know maybe I could still have a chance)

Demons of change taunted me
If I don’t do what I always did;
Fear of being strange haunted me.
What punishment for what I hid?
Maybe things will be a bit better
And settle down a bit after while
But life doesn’t seem to work well
Like when I could wink and smile.

My looks used to get me a ways,
Where mornings could turn into nights
I could have fun and party for days
And everything seemed fun and right.
I started out drinking and using
To overcome all my social fears.
It was just for weekends, partying,
But then it turned into many years.

I bought the drinks and the grass
And suddenly I was a welcome guy.
Later I too publicly fell on my ***
And nobody even asked me why.
But I caught myself holding ****
And *****, and keeping quiet
So nobody would come knocking
To party hearty and to try it.

And then one day, demons came
And heartlessly showed the truth;
They showed me myself by name,
I was no longer a pretty youth.
Only those as bad as I had become
Could stand to spend time with me.
I came to and realized I was numb
That my life had turned into tragedy.

Drunk
left me
in a bed
shared
with the bottle
blacked out
from all
the moments
that did not
make it to
memories

"A slave to your waters,
how I beg to kneel
and drink from you.

I feel so in control and powerful,
when under your influence.

Little do I realize,
how truly powerless I am,
when you're in me.

Under your grip,
with even one sip,
held so tight,
I have no life in sight."

You are lying in bed,
Listening to the gentle whistle of passing cars,
And the roar of a passing train.

You bite your lip,
Nervous.
Why?
Because that is all you can hear.

A month ago, the sounds of the city outside
Would be accompanied by the screams and shouts
Of the two people downstairs
That brought you up.

Sure,
Sometimes they forgot dinner time.
Or that you hadn’t been bathed in three days.
And all they’d do at night
Was fight.

Insult after insult,
Tears and a piercing smash.
And you’d lay awake and wonder
What you’d find in pieces the next morning.

As much as you’d squeeze your eyes shut,
And bury your face in the pillow,
You couldn’t help but be lulled to sleep
By the turbulence below.

It was your familiarity.
And sometimes,
Familiarity comes in the cruellest forms.

And now
There is silence.

You can’t hear
Your Father chugging alcohol.
Silently sobbing
Under the stark, white kitchen light.

It takes two to fight.
And now there is only one.
And now you can’t sleep.
Because there is nothing familiar about this at all.