Somewhere,
between one and a dozen,
was infinity.
Peaceful,
identical to empty energy
engulfed by
a haze of elation.
No frustration.

Take me, pills.
You walked in and saw
a corpse with a smile
plastered on its face.
You touched me.
You ******* *******.
Emptiness dies like
joy when reality
falls on your face.

I felt nothing at all.
Just the infinity
of death.
But,
you touched me.
Enough had happened already.
But,
you touched me.
I chose to be away from you.
But,
you touched me.

Memory has gone in a haze.
Just the look of horror,
on your face,
when you
were the one
who dealt with the guilt.
The guilt of putting me back
in my place.

Take me, pills.
Take her, too.
She touched me.
One of three,
none will know just what it is
like,
to forcibly remove the pain.

I remember you as a dark figure, looming over me.
My repetition of "no" and "stop" was eventually absorbed into the background noise, ignored- As if I was not present to you, only my body.
Something about the way you overpowered me, until I had nothing left,
You stripped away every remnant of my worth.

Lifeless, with a broken heart, was how you left me.
You touched down in the banks of my hollowed soul,
Like an earthquake, shattered me down to my core.
Everything I built myself upon crumbled, and I was 6 feet underneath the rubble.
That was the last of me, the beginning of my end.

I lacked strength to face this reality, hiding from it instead.
Consumed by destructive habits to fill an ever-growing hole in my heart, I lost myself in a spiraling dark hole.

At the bottom of that hole, I with nothing left, surrendered myself to the One capable of healing.
After a long road of war waged on my soul, peace replaced my hopelessness.
The reality I hid from by using destructive habits to fill an ever growing void, I now face with a full heart, lifted on wings of praise by the Lord's grace.
My loss of self value was redeemed by faith. The scars on my heart, now bandaged, serve as a testimony to the power of God's healing.

Where I was once a slave to my grief, I have been liberated. Where my soul was once lost, has been found.

It is that piece of meat
That turns the devil beast on
It is that hunk of flesh
That crazes the masculine instinct

We go after it like a prize of champions
And forget that the meat has any feelings
It is that incredible piece of meat
That we beat nightly when we come home to it

We see it as nothing more than a dish
That should be rightfully served to us
Locked away forever
In a tomb that we call love

We tell the meat it's ours
And we label it with our brand
Enjoying the motions of its cowers
As we slap it on the hand

Forget the cries of fear
For the meat does not know better
Than to be that delectable meal
That we devour its human rights of.

Oh this twinkling city.
“Come on over --
We have the night life.”

My car is two blocks away, just past,
just past these neon lights now.
Just past these long-legged, bustiered signs.
Come here missy, come in.
Come on, hon - you want to dance?
We need girls to dance.

Walk on, purse-clutching city woman.

Oh this dancing city
Oh this shattered city.

I never asked for it
the touch,
the comment,
the harassment.

I never desired for it
the pester,
the stare,
the ******.

I never wished for it,
the assault,
the blood,
the death.

Kathy Ann cut the hair of Mr. Diatribe,
recently deceased,
and glued his soft golden locks
to her pink phone case.
Fuzzy, calming, cathartic.

The scholars took this as evidence that she truly loved him
for all the favoritism
for all the joking
for all the flirting
for all the gentle touches
and for all the extra credit he offered her.

She raised her phone to the sky and declared
“This is my trauma on display,
for all the world to see.
It changed my life forever.
He will never part with me.”

Sophia asked her
“Wouldn’t you rather move on
and build a better society?
Imagine a school with free lunches,
no homework, no grades, bully-free.
Co-operation and learning only.”

“I’m still ****** up about it,” said Kathy Ann.
“It sounds good but I don’t believe.”

“That’s okay. I love you.”

“Some day, I will too. Thank you.”

This is not a poem about ****** assault.

This is not a poem about you taking everything from me.

This is not a poem about you taking the little girl I was once and forcing her to see how terrible the world can truly be.

This is not a poem about you taking my 4.0 GPA and shoving it under your bed with the remnants of my underwear.

This is not a poem about you taking the comfort out of physical affection.

This is not a poem about you pretending not to hear me when I begged you to stop.

This is not a poem about me pretending to fall asleep so I could pretend like I didn't remember it happened again.

This is not a poem about you blaming the alcohol.

This is not a poem about you blaming me.

This is not a poem.