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mars Jan 31
If they don’t believe you
they don’t deserve to
be apart of your story.

You shouldn’t have to explain
yourself.
mars Jan 28
The flowered bed sheets of the motel where we lay
he showed no mercy on the Atlantic coast
used me again and kissed me.

I only remembered the oceans roll
and the visions of a unshaved beard,
the feeling of dread when he locked the door and unzipped his jeans.

Sandcastle fell over
and the sharks swam away
watching the walkway from the motel bedroom,
waiting for him to come back an let me out.

This is a ****** of a child's innocence and he held it over the seas the shadow of my life changes into bone
until my ****** becomes a whole other being,
so powerful it gave me an STD at the age of 11.
Thoughts are doubled in my head and the dark air has no name.

I call out for who may be there but nobody answers, only the step-step-stepping of my uncle coming in the motel for more.
mars Jan 26
Purple aftershave on the corners of his lips, hairs trimmed and a gloss over the skin, peeking through the surface. Mirror ***** streaked with water a damp towel hanging over the basin.

I saw him in town today, standing on the street corner with his hands in his pockets waiting for the cross guard to let him walk. I ran so fast that the temporary glue I used to piece together major organs so that I could live, but live without emotion, grew loose. I put myself together again with washi tape from my kindergarten backpack. Placing them over the cuts his razor left between my legs.

I told myself that I would always be me before I remember that for 3 years I was yours. But right now the skies are grey and the scent your aftershave stings my nostrils. You made me kiss you on the cheek on the sickly smooth skin, you made me grow up too fast.

I set the closet where he kept me on fire with myself inside of it, deciding to burn with the ******* house instead of watching it from afar.

Knock on the old wood he opens the door to a room filled with smoke.
mars Jan 20
With our heads over the starboard of the boat trip we took taunting tropical storm Fay on the port and our dresses in the wind.
He watched from the captain's chair, pistol in his hand. Salty seas hinder our vision of the man in the watchtower turning him into a blur on the vast expanse of grey skies and rotting wet wood.  

Angry crew-children with their bodies touched, banging on the stained glass door to his room where the little girl looks through the marbled blue with tears on her cheeks. Laughing at the confrontation, sent back to work.

Gathering lobster and lost time, both of them scream in the boiling ***. Escaped breath from incestuious embraces return to lungs and we find out that we can scream too, the boiling *** is overturned dripping off the starboard where we stand.

Lightning bolt touches the flag above his head causing chemical reactions to develop into a spark. Flames at the back engulf the wheel the children blister their hands grasping onto the lines as Fay rolls through, lightning after thunder rain never ending. Chaos perspiring on the ship he calls the battalion to secuestrar the children.

The battalion is overturned at the punch, bruise left on grey skin. Captain blubbering with lies the fire heat on his back. Rotting wood is burning, we cover our noses with bandanas and letters marked for Groton. The tide rises waves overtake the port, splashing onto the starboard where the victims jump into the black water uncertainty chilling them.

Swimming to Key West with the dolphins on our back the fiery ship burns in the distance the captain tied to a chair of ******* and lines untouched, denying allegations until his heart is charcoal and all that's left is a charred body smelling of ****** and aftershave. The starboard side is empty causing imbalance to the ship.

Dripping tears and sea water, walking through the streets, we lower our bandanas and hold the letters close to our hearts. Searching for the sun that will lead us home.
mars Jan 17
My uncle used to ask often
if I had any boyfriends.
I realize now after
reporting him for
molesting me,
that he asked me that
question because he
didn’t want me
to be
anybody elses.
mars Jan 17
I keep having dreams
of when we were kids,
but we were never kids.
mars Dec 2018
A shadow holds me in his grip and seeks the bones that he must find. The grazes of ghostly fingers on myself remind me of my ending youth and the ticking time that is left.

I’ve disappeared into the morning fog as the people I love have begun to stare straight through me They strain to look at me although I vanish upon them catching a small glimpse- I am acid to the cornea causing burning blindness and hatred.

These bones are brittle and the wind has picked up, the sky is darkening as if to rain and the rainbow day is done. However, the rainbow days were spent as a child whisked to the side to be plucked like a fruit all of the brightness and sweets taken, leaving me dull, laughter drops from me like a stone.

I attempt to concentrate on the slivers of light peering through the bars of my own psychological prison cell, but such magnification did not set my heart on afire.

Rain droplets ******* skin, unraveling at the ripples as 3 lightning bolts fork through the houses, 7 claps of thunder, 12 bursts of laughter in the house next door and a thousand tears rolling down my cheeks. I suddenly realize that my head was severed from my body days ago while lying sleepless on the worn couch.

Each season the garden dies, i die with each, until i die no more- although his death and mine were not the same, we still rot underneath the dirt in worms and earth as the city streets blacken and decompose.

The tears cling to the sleeve of my jacket mucus separating with a sticky pull and the dolls and smiles of my life are gone replaced by the headache and the row of cuts on my thighs.
void Dec 2018
they let their sticky humid hands
hold my glitching hologram body
against the scratchy playhouse
walls and drag their clammy
claws where no child should
think to rub all the while
whispering into my vacant ears
how they would beat me and
bite me and cut me and kick me
if anyone were to ever find out
our little game as tapeworm
tears sludged from my sickly
sweet rotting eyesockets and
down my shiny shaking dust
stained cheeks silently over my
cold and closing throat and
when my dad finally ripped the
splintering wooden door across
the sandy shifting floor i was so
pale pink blue i could have been
six hours dead save for my
fracturing porcelain and
plexiglass heart destructive and
bashing and shattering itself
through my frail and brittle
crumbling ribcage whispering to
me how badly my dad would
scream at me for the way we
were playing
mars Dec 2018
Waves taller than I was
cool atlantic ocean
grainy sand between my fingers
burying my toes.

Hot sunburns and salty hair
the beach bars where we used to eat off the kids meal
going back to your condo
sitting on your couch.

Thrown over his shoulders
covered in sand, the warm weight used to be fun but now it just scares me
you scare me.
My shoulders were kissed
sunscreen on my back
the lukewarm pools and marco polo races holding my breath until i thought my lungs would explode.

The water would rush back with the pull of the ocean our sundresses damp around our ankles, bruises over our mouths where you held them shut
The porch light was on to the condo my towel draped over your balcony, bathing suit bottoms in your bedroom.

Forgotten toys and to pairs of arm floaties because i was never good at swimming, you left your watch on the shoreline.
Crying because of the pain and the hatred and love
Never knowing if I would be cuddled or touched
but knowing i would be cuddled after being touched
those sunburnt spots caressed by you.
White caps peak as the sun rises, we’re cold with fevers and abuse, shaking as our feet are wet again with salty water and your watch pulled out to the sea, lost forever.
ómra Dec 2018
For I have seen the face of God-- eyes averted, looking away. He does not want to see what my child's eyes have seen, does not want to know of what hands have known my skin.

He is ashamed in the way of those who have born witness to some awful deed and not done all that they could do to stop it. If it is not within God's power or agenda to help a child, what great God can he be?

Even the Devil, in his wickedness, does not deign to save a child from pain not deserving to a little girl. If this is the truth of the world-- that horrid, preventable evils may occur to the most innocent amongst us-- then truly, how merciful can this God be?

What point is there in striving to be by the side of a God who is so callous, so uncaring-- why deify such a cruel being? Perhaps he is out there, indeed it is likely, but I want no part of him-- he does not want me, tainted as I am.

He disowned me that night when he turned away from my desperation, my cry for help. If he does not want me for what was done to me, so be it-- I do not want him either.

When I arrive outside of his Pearly Gates, he will fall to his mighty knees and beg my forgiveness. I do not think that I will give it.
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