Days spent inpatient
Couldn't save me from me
Years spent in treatment
Failing to set me free
Dozens of medications
Just to be told it's BPD
Hundreds of coping mechanisms
Yet you still won't believe
I've worn myself out trying
To fight for a release.

I'm just a writer.

Nothing more, but never less.
I know my worth, while you ******* stretch.
I have the cards and I have the gun
you have no clue what distress can do.

Be my buddy or be muse
Just leave me alone
If you think I'll lick the blood from your rotten wounds.

It was a few weeks and we fell high in love
I sat and gazed while he took the plunge.
I loved whenever our hands interlaced,
just delicately resting on the same gun.

Abused
and misunderstood
I am so surprised
at the amount of people
who defend abusers
simply because
they don't like "crazy."
but they will still
use crazy people
and sleep with them
and treat them
like animals.
They'll ****
the crackheads on the street
and think something
is wrong with them
they don't have a home
for a reason.
That girl
with mood swings
whose desperate
that girl
who sells her body
just has daddy issues.
That girl
you lied to
and manipulated
and used,
she's just crazy.
And no one knows how she came out to be that way.

That girl
is a *** toy
and a waste of time.
That girl
is so desperate for love
she is weird.
She needs therapy.
She needs help.
Because therapy is so easy to get, right?
Just wait until you find the right one!

It's not like
I emotionally shut down
It's not like
people tell me that over and over again
while I have flashbacks
and go back in time
4 years ago
when I first learned
how to trauma bond

It's not like
the world treats me
like somethings wrong with me
it's not like
men know
that I am extremely traumatized
and target me
and take advantage of me
It's not like
I haven't been eyeballed
since I was 9 years old
It's not like
my mom tells me
awful things about my body
that I'm fat
that I'm ****
that I need to lose weight
It's not like
she's touched me
in weird ways

which is the reason why
we haven't hugged
since who knows when.

In the strands
of my DNA,
I am repulsed by her touch.
It's not like
these dudes in their 20s
are looking for
some hot
11 year old
15 year old
16 year old

What do you do
when you're a 40 year old man
who just doesn't got it no more?
Let's chat up
the ****
17 year old
girl

My ex
mentally
and emotionally
tortured me
and out of fear
I attracted
more guys
just like him.

That's exactly
what I wanted
ever since
that moment
he treated me
like a *** object
I slit the throat
of my inner child
and became one.

I'm always hovering
outside my own body
like an etheric spirit
observing
a beautiful mold of clay.
I am overwhelmed
by emotions
I've slowly processed
from years ago
I am scared
of men
in real life.
I am too afraid
to have ***
yet, I want it
so bad
desperately

I am afraid
to be
my ****** self
because I don't
want to be taken advantage of
I am afraid
of love
because I am naive

I am afraid
to tell people
who I am
because the moment I say
I have BPD
they'll think
I'm "crazy"
and make me into
that puppet
that concept
that everyone has
inside their mind

I only feel safe
in my room
holding my own body
I've lost
50 pounds
I look different
I don't know who I am
anymore.

I've always had
a negative self-image
and still do
I try to fight it
but it is powerful
the way he made
me feel so worthless
and disgusting
the way I float
near my own face

wishing
I,
the spirit,
could live
inside myself
that's what
we all
truly are
I wish
I could go back
to when I was a child
when I was free
when I didn't hate men
or fear them
when I felt inside my body
and my emotions
when I felt happy
when I believed in love
and never felt empty
but always full.

And the last time
I sought out love
I let that man
crush my boundaries
with a mallet
and in doing so
he crushed me.

I looked at my past
and saw my future
and decided
to shut down
my fragile heart
and love no more.

And now
I am 18
a ******
who has never had a real man
or been on a real date
but only lied to
and manipulated
behind a screen.

I am mentally destroyed
and have no idea
in the ******* world
how I'll find a partner.

But I've accepted
that I am crazy
and that I am a ****
even though I've
never had ***
and that I am
completely
and utterly
hopeless.

want to reach out

want to grow the sprout

so why is the weight of the phone a block of cement in my hand?

why do i feel like every word still wouldn’t make people understand?

want them to see through my lenses
want them all to come to their senses

how do i make you care the way that i feel will keep me above ground

i didn’t go through this to be your slutty little rebound

so hold my hand and kiss my softly

although the end of the receipt is quite costly

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i’m cold,
and my shaking fingers are
shooting missiles toward you from
fifteen miles away.
texting is the worst form of communication.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
can’t you ever answer the
******* phone when i call you?
do you even love me? do you
care that i’m in pain?
do you care that i’m waiting here,
alone, cold,
while you have your car and
some other ***** snuggled up under your arm?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
what am i supposed to do,
leave you when you say you don’t care about me?
others have told me that i’m resilient
and i don’t want to make liars out of my friends.
i can take this. i can take this.
i’m not afraid of pain.
keep hurting me. tell me to **** myself
and i’ll kiss your calloused fingers
and worship you like nothing else.
i am on my knees
and the lentils you had me kneel on
are beginning to cut through my skin.
baby? do we still call each other,
baby?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
do you remember that morning
when you called me a fat ******* *****
because i spilled coffee all over the kitchen floor?
do you? because i do.
and i would crawl through the coffee and the
scattered glass like a dead man does through hell,
trying to get to something better
but knowing they never will.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i am not crazy.
well, i am crazy.
but i’m not crazy here.
here, i need you to hear me.
don’t just say you do-
actually do it.
pull my heart out and look how it
pulsates with love.
every beat was made for you
and you just won’t look.
you won’t listen.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i have put my hands
through blazing fire to
soothe your enormous ego
and you can’t pick me up
from the ******* bus stop.
****! what’s a girl got to do
to find a man that will
lick her wounds and devour
her fears? am i not worthy of love?
should i just **** myself?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i’m a mistake. i am unlovable.
i am a ruined being left alone by God to
suffer in this hell we call life.
everything he says about me is right.
i’m difficult. i cry too much. i’m too depressed.
i’m crazy. i’m crazy. i’m crazy.

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
what was i thinking?
i don’t need a man. i don’t need anyone!
i am more godly than anything up in the sky
or beneath the earth!
i am the vacuum of space
and i’ll suffocate those who think
i’m anything less than perfect.
why won’t he pick up
the ******* phone?

the bus is coming
and it’s raining outside.
i check my phone.
it’s 7:11pm.
the bus isn’t coming.
i don’t think it ever was.

When I was a little girl, I hated violence.


I'm almost an adult now and violence is my greatest strength, I don't think it's better than kindness but nevertheless it seems powerful, loud, I can't express myself without it.


I have to be aggressive almost always, and it hurts people but nevertheless, it's the only way people listen to me. 


I feel worthless without my voice, like my dad’s old t-shirt that's now used to clean up dirt. 

I feel small when I'm not heard, I could be in class but nevertheless, I'll stand up shatter like glass.


You see, I grew up thinking that being quiet would make things calmer, quiet would glue my family back together just like the broken clay cup on the kitchen floor after my parents would scream simultaneously over each other, so from a very young age I hated violence.


The aggression triggered the self-hatred in me, I made an effort to sit behind the corner so I could be ready to step in because when they fought, it was like the apartment suddenly filled with strong currents from the sea in a deep underwater cave that only seemed to be relieved when my father retrieved.


I never wanted to be labelled as the "crazy and violent" girl, nevertheless, my emotions flood with rage as I try to grip onto reality.

I spoke my mind with words that cut deeper than a blade, louder than a man, I suffocated people with my dark intrusive thoughts.

My personality was bigger than brothers hoodies I used to steal.


One day I began to find comfort in my violence and somewhere along the way, I learned that my voice is like an old childhood blanket that's so ***** and worthless, but to me, It's my only way of feeling heard. 


I learned not to let people in because what's the point if in the end I'll be letting them go through the smoke of a joint. 

I learned not to hold myself back when an immature boy only sees me as a toy.


I learned to love my quiet yet aggressive personality because as a child, myself is all I had. 


Violence isn't always the answer, nevertheless now that I'm grown, I don't hate violence.


In fact it's is my greatest strength.

I long to crawl from my own skin.
An emptiness consumes me from within.

Far and wide, I search for a home; a prison it is to exist within my own bones.
A gnawing begins to fill my brain,
maggots and vermin lead my mind astray.
I long for the day I am severed from myself.  

Suffering, I sell my soul
to gods of worlds old,
just to breathe a life free of the suffering that is me.

You don’t want to die.
No.
You want happiness.

You want to wake up in the morning feeling alive with each breath that comes easily and weightless; You just want stop feeling like this is a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The possibility of happiness manipulates you into thinking you can have it then, inconveniently at the most in opportune time reminds you that happiness is just not something you can have no matter how deep the yearning you have to submerge yourself in it; happiness is there, all around yet just out of reach so that you can see but never manage to have it.

You’re hopeless, alone in a cold darkness that suffocates you, leaving you breathless and isolated from others by past wounds that wont heal.

At times you’re overwhelmed, like a deer in headlights you can’t move; feeling paralyzed not knowing what to do, say, think, should you sit? Waiting until you “unfreeze”
you’re frozen in an attempt to pullaway from an invisible hand that has a tight grasp of your upper arm. Eventually it releases its hold allowing you to move once more leaving you to now wondering, lost on what to do .

Sometimes you’re trying to find reason to live, more reasons than your kids. If it weren’t for the kids you wouldn’t be here. You have tried so many times. But are left to fight for yourself. You’re all you can depend on in the end. Whenever that will be.