I know you've had a hard day;
it goes like that everyday.
And I know
the last thing you want to do
with me is play.
You can lie down,
but just listen.
Those words are stuck
inside me like in a prison.
And being heard
feels good.
So please,
just lie down,
and listen to my words.
The words I speak
might not mean a whole lot to you.
But to me,
they speak the truth.
You do not
have to listen to them,
but I will speak them anyway.
i will scream so loud to make sure my words are heard
to drown in the mix of anger and hurt
i will shout my feelings in emotional distress
so loud that the universe will stop moving this way
a voice so loud that i can finally cry
and see the tears fall knowing that i've tried
The Toxic Bitch Dec 2018
I just read what i wrote
Last month
Am definitely not feeling the same way
But somehow
Am still not happy
All i ever wanted was someone
To come home to
Cuddle up
And forget about everything else
Maybe you'll be that someone

I saw you today
We look at each other
We don't feel the same way
But we definitely didn't forget
I hope oneday you'll understand

You came out of nowhere
Saying random words
That you know
Will affect one way or another
I hate u for it
But i wanna listen
I guess i never really got you

You're new to me
Warm different
I like it
Am used to you
Like we've known each
For so long
Even though we didn't even meet yet
I have a feeling
About this
in such a way
that others love
to listen to you.
in a way
that others love
to talk to you.
JAC Jan 2
Some say
the moon favours
those who listen to it

and some
have never listened
to the moon.
I build a spiderweb of
faces and get tangled
in the names
my mind is a library
of dusty shelves and one
visitor who lives
but never leaves
please don’t ask me
if I have your social security number too
I don’t and it’s not
very funny to me
to be locked in a cage
of everything
that the world forgets
I’m not stalking you
I am simply being observant
because sometimes if you stop talking
you can listen to the
world around you
I am the one who listens
in a loud and overbearing world
and this web of names
keeps spinning
obscuring it all
until you forget me
even faster than you forgot me
A poem written about my mind’s affinity for names, written on a post-it in a time of great procrastination.
Eileen Black Dec 2018

A sick feeling in my stomach but a smile on my face
A memory I ignore but can’t erase
A heavy weight on my heart but too much fear
I’m holding back something I’m dying to say.
I’m losing my mind thinking what it will take
For someone to hear.

A fearful confession...it only took five years,
But of course, they believe him when he fakes some tears.
He tells them “she wanted it” and “it was consensual.”
They believe him, and my life suddenly sheers.
I nod to make them happy, but let me be clear:
It was not mutual.

Seven years old to twelve, my nightly fears were perpetual.
Who cares whose story is truthful and factual
When he sheds a tear and puts on a good show?
It seems I’m the one in the wrong, as usual.
What a fool to think my story would be equal.
It’s still a low blow.

Five years later, I still have stains on my pillow
From makeup and tears ‘cause I couldn’t say no.
Well, I did say no, but he wouldn’t listen.
Will it still hurt in five more? Who knows.
But it’s still a piece of myself I let go,
A piece I’m missin’.

It feels like something wrong with me needs fixin’.
But as long as they’re happy, I’ll keep pretendin’
That I’m okay, that I was lying. I apologize.
I hear stories about all of these women
Who are taken and sold and ***** and beaten,
And they survive.

Compared to that, this is nothing, so I’ll deny
The truth, or at least let them believe the lies.
I’ll make them happy; that’s what smiling masks are for.
If anyone asks, I’ll simply minimize
How bad it was. Who needs to know how many times
I was on the floor,

Curled up, crying, because I felt like a *****?
It will just be one more thing for me to ignore.
What more could you expect from such a fool, a clown?
I don’t want to be a disappointment anymore.
I want to go back to the little girl I was before,
The one on the playground

Who felt like a princess and wore a silver crown.
But every word I try to speak gets drowned
By my own mind and the thoughts I won’t share.
I’m fine, but the pain is always in the background.
Still, I get hit up to get felt up then shot down.
How is that fair?

If a guy likes my body and what I wear
But not me, am I supposed to not care?
Whatever happened to my shining knight?
Am I supposed to feel honored if guys stare?
I want to scream, but I just can’t find the air.
Guess that’s why I write.

Sometimes the pain and shame get too much despite
Being told countless times it will be alright.
But you will never understand what it feels like when
the monster from nightmares comes to haunt you night after night,
Except you’re not asleep and this nightmare is real life
Not ‘til you listen.
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