I’m quiet.
I’m afraid if I say anything I’ll start crying,
Screaming,
Laughing,
Maybe all three. That would be something to see.

Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me,
Something fundamentally wrong in my brain.
Why don’t I like people touching me?
It’s not like I was abused,
Or *****,
Sexually harassed.
I don’t have an excuse off the top of my head,
I just don’t like it.

I’ve asked before,
Asked for this one boundary.
She uses every part of me.
I am a tool,
Something to show off.
I get it.
I just hoped that maybe,
Just maybe,
Touch could be my one thing.
Just please don’t touch me.

I feel bad for you,
My Mother said as she grabbed my face,
No one will ever love you.
She’s probably right.
How could anyone love what they couldn’t touch?
Still I had to ask,
Just please don’t touch me.

We are in a small, confined booth now.
She wraps her arm around me to take a picture,
Even makes a big show of prefacing it with an apology.
I know you don’t like being touched,
But,
I’m going to touch you for this picture.
This picture I will show off to all my facebook friends,
I’ll show off my happy family,
My successful daughter.
Look how happy we all are.

Her bracelet caught on my sweater.
She leaned close,
I could feel her breath on my neck and I panicked,
She was so close.
I ****** away,
My body slammed into the wall of the booth.

I could see an apology on her lips,
I could see the maternal instinct starting to kick in,
Just to watch it be drowned by the hurt in her eyes.

Being hurt,
Pain,
It can look like many things.
To me it looks like My Mother lashing out,
Verbal knives pinning me against a wall.
This is the look that drowned out any maternal instinct in her eyes.
She excused herself to the bathroom.
I knew I should’ve gone to apologize.
Say that I didn’t mean to,
Blame it on a headache.

But I was scared.
Fear gripped me and held me in that booth seat.
I knew if I got up,
Went to that bathroom,
She would only scream false lies at me.
She wouldn’t mean them.
They’d still hurt.

So later that night,
When my Mother was crying and crying in the hotel room next to mine,
My Dad texted me
Asked me to meet him in the lobby.
I got down there and the look on his face said it all,
I had failed.
I burst into tears.

He dragged me into a conference room,
Looking around to make sure no attendants or workers noticed.
Asked why I had done it,
Informed me of all the pain, and suffering my Mother is now going through,
Because of me.
Because I couldn’t withstand her touching me for more than 15 seconds,
For a stupid God forsaken picture.

When I found a space between my tears and his accusations,
I plead that I had tried.
I tried my best to be okay with it.

I couldn’t explain to him that it was more than just dislike.
It was invasive,
Whatever instinctual fight or flight switch I had,
Touch triggered it.
How could I tell him it made me feel repulsed,
Revolted,
Disgusted,
Nauseated,
It tore my insides to pieces trying to hold myself together for a picture.
How could I tell him any of this?

So I cried and cried and cried.
And when I got back upstairs,
Saw the notifications on my phone,
And checked on facebook to see that happy picture,
Of a happy daughter,
A happy mother,
And a happy family,
I felt ashamed

I felt guilty,
I felt wrong.
They all wanted this,
They wanted this picture to be true,
And I didn’t know how to give it to them.

my head is pulsating
with the sound waves of your beating heart
that used to lull me to sleep
back when i resided in that
angry basement you called home

i have this bad case of emotional abuse
honestly, all it does for me is serve to amuse
because have you ever let something so stupid happen?
all you can do is laugh at yourself for allowing it
i am the one hurting myself -
you you you
you've given me a bad case of emotional abuse
(and i let you)

Your Breath
        bitter with alcohol
Your Words
        slurred without thought
You Don't Remember
        you never do
Why Don't You Join Your Family
        i guess the bottle is more comforting

*** stains my lips.
i can't remember the taste of your lips anymore.

All strung
out
       on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
      that injected
the next defense
      to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
            of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
      the truth behind
the doors of
           beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
             vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
       in an ocean of sighs

Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
                       drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
    sick doctor
who shares
          this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing

In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
   who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
         the stars,
receiving their
            shadows
           of light
      like a blessing
   upon my
   nettle-stung
    tongue
and
       rise

The house is full of horrors,
This house, it owns no love.
The air is filled with madness,
The floor boards moan in sadness.
The sounds it makes at night,
And the walls, blood red and white,
Represent the turmoil that’s going on inside,
But everything is perfect on the outside.
The grass is trimmed,
The flowers bloomed,
The hedges cut,
The paint renewed,
So people walking by they smile,
And continue on their way.
But the house it cannot move,
For a house wasn’t built with feet to run,
Or a mouth or eyes,
To tell you something’s wrong.
This house it carries on,
It has to stand up strong,
To support the demons ruining
All the paint work.
They will rip it all to shreds,
Tare it up until it’s nearly dead,
Without a detectable scratch upon the surface.
The house it cannot show
The scars it bares inside,
And its figured that’s all it’ll ever deserve.
There’s no way to break the cycle
trust me it’s tried,
And all it’s done is made itself cry,
Which resulted in a leak down from the roof.
The house was beat
And still no outward proof.
There never was,
Nor will there ever be,
Someone there to help it carry on.