The word emo is used to describe someone who dresses dark and scary.
Or someone who hurts themself.
For me, it’s a word I use to describe my real emotions.
Emo = emotion
I am “emo” because I am emotional.
Sure, I joke around a lot.
I make fun of my own emotions.
I call myself emo just because I like wearing black.
But there’s a reason why I wear all that black.
I’m too afraid to be happy.
I’m don’t deserve to wear color.
I feel like I should always be grieving.
I feel like I don’t deserve happiness.
Why would I?
I always feel guilty for what happened back in the seventh grade.
I could’ve done more.
I could’ve been more useful.
That’s a lie.
I’m useless.
Worthless.
A terrible person.  
The point is that I am the original emo.
Not because I wear black.
But because I am emotional.
Does that make me human?
No.
It just makes me sad.
That’s as plane as it gets.
I’m just sad.

I try so hard to scrub him off me.
It has been over four years and I still scream in the night.
The feeling is so suffocating that when I open my lungs, dust puffs out.
All I have left from him is layers over layers over layers of insecurity and fear.
When you ask me if I liked that, I smile and nod and yes yes of course,
But I can’t even feel it anymore.
Sometimes I am so numb by what has happened to me and my protective mechanisms resurface
Blocking every sense of touch and emotion that I have,
Giving you the show that I was taught to give.
The only feeling that remains after we have *** is the feeling of another man’s teeth sinking into my neck,
Clamping down on the blood flow to my brain,
Knocking me out in a much more pleasant way than when he would with his fists.
No matter how raw I scrub myself, his fingerprints and bruises linger.

I love you.
I am trying to forget him.
I am shaking in your arms and it is for all the wrong reasons and it has been a year,
A year into this beautiful life with you and I still don’t think I have told you.
It is not your fault, I know that.
What I don’t know, is if it was mine.

I was in first grade the first time he touched me
Sitting in class enjoying my innocence when I felt a hand on my leg
Confusing
fear
Innocence
I wonder now what innocence means
As his hand slipped into my pants
Threatening me I shouldn't tell
Couldn't tell
I'd be in trouble
The goody-two shoes
The thought suffocated me
It stiffled the fight
Mom would be so upset

It didn't stop
For months
I hated going to school
Hated sitting beside him
The troublemaker
Beside the good girl
Maybe she'll be a good influence
She wasn't
Not while he had his hand in her pants
telling her what to feel
Telling her what he was going to do
Or else he'd tell
Tell the teacher who was supposed to care
Tell the parents who should have protected
Break the girl who had done nothing wrong
Was this what adults meant by love?
Control
Fear
Immense shame

She never told
Who would believe her now
That child is dead
Replaced by someone who claws
Begs for a feeling of innocence again
Something to take it back
To replace the childhood that was shattered
But don't tell mom
Don't tell dad
Break slowly inside
As the emotions roll over
Your fault
You never stopped it
Bet you even liked it
Can't handle reality

Never tell.

I'm so broken now
A shattered child lives somewhere deep in my heart, paralyzed on the floor, trapped by fear, afraid to even cry for help

It’s strange to look back on it now, the dust has settled down and I can glance around.
Memories are like flashbacks, they’re like visions.
Sometimes they feel like dreams, as if they never even happened.
2 and a half years felt like a dream, I guess that’s how it seems. These memories follow me and purposely leave scars on my heart, Tiny marks and dents that you’ve made on me.
Your scars were from self harming.
Your words were promising.
Telling me to not worry about everything
Then you proceed to just tell me you want me
Well honey I’m crying now, while on the ground, because you hurt me more than I’ve ever felt.

Yes the memories still haunt me like a lullaby, but it doesn’t put me to sleep.
At midnight I’m wide awake from the shame you put me through. How blind and naive could a girl be to fall for what I already knew. What I knew were your lies that I pushed aside, in my mind, they fall into my subconscious.
Every action and thought, every effect, every cause, stored in my subconscious without further ado.
Until they are brought up, like a wave, this rush, this onslaught of defense, I told them,
“You don’t know what I do!”
But what is the truth?
What is truth when you believe in lies?

These thoughts are suffocating
I'm trying to live in the moment
But their faces keep spinning past me
Their voices echoing in my mind
I can't handle this
Panic shocks my entire core
My limbs start to shake and I need to let it out
But I can't
My eyes remain dry and my skin stays clean
I'm stuck, as these movies clog my consciousness
Replaying all my mistakes
And our most intimate moments
Tear-stained faces burn into my vision
They make it hard to breathe
Lost in this anxiety
Most days being with you makes the darkness fade
But sometimes these demons are too strong to tame
So I try to be ok and silence the negativity
But it's hard when the feelings are trapped in my memories

i’m losing my own mind,
with the swollen heart i got.

i have feelings of being left behind,
your memories replay in my thoughts.

once i cry myself to sleep,
flashbacks start to pour in quick.

you cut a wound too deep,
thanks to you i feel uncomfortable and sick.

guilt is all i feel,
as interest is slowly fading away.

don’t know if i’ll be able to heal,
with anxiety stopping by to play.

did you understood when i said,

“no, stop.”

you didn’t dare to listen as i was upset,
undefeated my knees dropped.

You can try to fix me,

I Dare you!

But there is nothing from the past
That you can undo,
There is nothing I can re-live
Or redo.

There is Nothing we can forget.

There are only the Flashbacks
Residual memories,
Fighting to get out despite
The torment.

Pain  ...   ...
                            
                            [fea­r]

  ||  A  ||  X  ||  I  ||  E  ||  T  ||  Y  ||



           ­                                     Loneliness...





¶¶¶ Depression

Replaying like a broken track
A warped Melody.

Some people will often list the smell of rain among their favorite smells,
but to me it is an awful stench; a reminder of that hellish night.

Some people are made giddy as they watch the dark clouds gather and anticipate the droplets,
but the air of excitement is something I dread; it suffocates me.

Some people watch the cars zoom by and admire that sound of the wet pavement hissing in response, but this noise is associated with a memory that holds me captive; it is a prison to me.

Some people find the smells and sounds of rainfall to be soothing, but I feel as if the world is mourning with me when it rains; a storm played in the background the night my life was shattered.

Some people marvel at the beauty of lights reflected in water, but I cannot admire these things for fear that I might get stuck in my head; my mind might think we're back living that night again.

Some people used to include myself; no longer, but there is not a day that goes by without a prayer that I might one day return to the world's collection of some people.