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lisagrace 10h
The girl was only eleven,
when she first thought

                            "What if I went?"

When even escaping
to magic-filled hardcovers
could not ease her descent

School bullies were not all
that pulled her
towards the yawning void,
on eggshells she walked
around him,

being careful not to flip
his switch
He'll twitch -
see red
It filled her with dread
Better to stay tight lipped -

                Better to be...

                                     His pet
The next part of the Retrospective poem series. A growing awareness of fear and control.
It doesn't ask.
It never knocks.
It just shows up-
mid-sentence,
mid-step,
mid-me.

My body remembers
things I don't want to.
Fluorescent lights,
locked doors,
her voice like venom,
his hands,
the smoke thick enough
to erase a home.

I'm split between moments.
One version of me
is pouring coffee.
The other is back
in a room I begged to leave,
screaming behind my eyes
while my face stays still.

And people say
"but you're safe now."
Like my nervous system
understands logic.
Like my skin
doesn't still flinch at kindness,
like safety is a thing
I've ever known for sure.

I carry too many names.
******. Liar. *****. Crazy.
He. She. It.
I carry too many versions of myself
that other people made
without asking.

And I'm so ******* angry.
At her.
At them.
At the system that locked me up
when all I needed
was to be held without harm.
At the fact that I'm still here
trying to make something soft
out of what they left jagged.

Sometimes I wish
I could go back-
whisper to the kid
who hid under blankets
trying to disappear.
Tell him: you were right.
Tell them: it wasn't your fault.
Tell me
I'd get out.

And I did.
But sometimes,
parts of me still don't know that.
They shake,
they shut down,
they show up uninvited.

And I breathe,
even when it burns.
And I stay,
even when I want to run.
And I write,
because it's the one place
I get to be the one
telling the story.
Spicy Digits Jul 16
I ducked their axe
But not the slap
The belt strap
And again and again
The razorblade
To my inner thigh
Of little maps
Flesh wounds
Like roses
I built hot memories
Warm enclosures.
Now my body
Is safe
Though not from their faith
And again and again
I am still caged
But now with longer spells
Of sunshine awake.
lola Jul 14
I woke with strings attached to my arms and legs. I was quite young when I first saw them on others, but when I mentioned it, nobody seemed to know what I was talking about. They dismissed it — as adults do with a lot of things children say they see. But no. Now I’m older, and they’ve appeared on me.

I never quite knew what the strings were for, but as I went through the day, I noticed they followed every movement I made — my arms, my legs, even my fingers. The strings moved and bent with me. If I moved too fast, without thinking, I found myself tangled in my own strings. Unable to move as smoothly as before. And when I wanted to do something drastic, it took a bit more of a tug.

I always feel them there. Sometimes, when I let them, the strings move me around on their own. I have nothing to do with it.

One morning, I began to wonder — does everyone have their own strings? I sat, legs crossed, on a wooden chair at the round kitchen table, staring at the black and white tiled floor. The smell of freshly made coffee filled my nose, and the strings attached to my arms started to flutter, in and out of existence. I can’t quite remember what I was thinking then. But I felt a piece of myself return.

That’s when I realized: I’m in control. I’ve been in control this whole time — regardless of who or what is holding the top of those strings. I can take that small wooden “X” back whenever I want.

And just like that, they disappeared.

I wasn’t sure how long it would last or if it was just a fluke. But the next morning, I felt no tug at my arms. When I moved too fast, I didn’t get tangled. I could move freely through the world.

Still, to this day, I see people with these strings attached to them. Some are thick ropes, some a thin thread. Everyone is different. Yet, they still aren’t quite able to see them. And if they do, I’m not sure how long it will be until they fade away — until they take back control.

Do you have control?
don't be your own puppet master, you're in controll
Yuzuko Jul 10
For its takes its stance
Ending all hope by a single glance
A tiny dot that expands to be a blackhole
Ready to take control
Spells out fear look at the letter at the start of each line
Laura Claes Jul 2
If your care for me depends on your own interests of subject and time, I think it's called control instead.

L.C.
Kaiden Jun 25
A feeling
That over time turned into a word,
Being too far to reach.
Trying to reclaim it,
You get hurt,
Or hurt others,
For the tiniest feeling of power
That feels so wrong,
Yet so right.

Trying to regain control controls you.
at this point i dont really have control over much stuff but oh well
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