My mother dresses me in gowns,
stockings, fleece jackets,
She pulls my hair up into a ponytail,
sometimes braids it into conrows,
She spanks my *** when i mess it,
She scolds when my outfit is ***** or greasy,

My father lives in the South side,
He dresses me in a suit and tie,
He likes my hair in a bun,
On the weekends he likes me in sweatpants and a tee-shirt,
***** and greasy in his garage,

I like me having a choice,
I want me on overalls, shorts, jeans and african print on Sundays,
I like my hair messy and short,
I hate the society norms

a memory wrapped its cold, rough hands
around my throat, squeezing it tightly.
as I tried to walk away, the memory
stuck its foot out, blocking my path.
I could only muster a pitiful squeak
as I fell face first onto the ground,
and the memory fell on top of me,
effectively holding my body hostage.
its hands were still on my throat,
but it was invisible to everyone else.
they only saw me fall to the ground.
they asked me what was wrong,
but I did not have air that could
breathe life into the powerful words
that were begging to leave my mind.
a sheet of paper suddenly appeared
underneath my right palm,
and a pencil rolled my way.
I gripped the sturdy pencil with
every ounce of strength I still had,
steadying the paper with my wrist,
and I wrote the words I couldn't say
so they would stop begging to leave,
even as the memory gripped my throat.
as I kept writing, I noticed the memory
stopped feeling as heavy on my body.
it was getting ****** into the paper.
it resisted at first, but after a while,
the memory slowly let go of me
and relaxed into the pencil marks.
when I had no more words left,
I picked myself up off the ground,
placed the pencil above my ear,
took the paper, hugged it to my chest,
and walked away with a smile on my face.

Thoughts racing, thinking of escaping
Am I trapped? Have I been confined to live in this place of regret?
This is all my fault, placed here through my actions, never to feel again the grace of satisfaction
Death appears to be the only light, it feels like there’s no reasons left to fight

A hostage to my own mentality, an everlasting insanity
There is no breaking free the chains of subconscious slavery

Consumed by the thoughts in my head, nothing makes sense but the voices want me dead
Constricted by the walls of my mind, telling me to leave this all behind.
Oh how I crave such a shallow grave; bring me to my final resting place

Death holds a constant grip on me

My head forever held in shame, forget my face, forget my name
Disintegrate all feelings once felt, pandemonium is where i’m left to dwelt
Beating hearts never felt so cold, living within this hell all alone
Ceasing to exist is all I’ve ever known
Calloused, broken, bruised and bleeding
My inner compass has lost its true north, always contemplating back and forth
Standing on the fringes of existence, pushed from the edge of my subsistence

A hostage to my own mentality, an everlasting insanity
There is no breaking free the chains of subconscious slavery

Unworthy to call this body a home; this prison of mere flesh and bone
I have become darkness incarnate, a true form of the blackest abyss
Deliver me from dissolution, no absolution from my own retribution

This mortal vessel has run it’s course, completely depleting my vital life force
Nothing can save me from myself, my own worst enemy, my soul forgotten like an unread book on the shelf

A hostage to my own mentality, an everlasting insanity
There is no breaking free the chains of subconscious slavery

With every notion of devotion I beg and plead to thee, please release me from this grim reality