It seems like the tales in my heart
are mired in my soul
scars on my body
are basically just tales of
intense violent mysogony
what I realized
was that  my femininity is not what I hate
its the longing to feel safe
to feel okay
in my womaness
to not equate my womanhood with violence.
        
I am healing
I am working on separating this
on healing the patterns of violence
that I was brought into this world with
from a violent man known as my father
and the men in my family
I feel the anger in my heart
that I have always carried and pointed towards myself
now all I listen to is metal music
and I feel so much comfort
in this music ,
that explains my emotions in words that I can't even describe,
What hurts more
is that I overlooked so many good men
because of the way that my violence,
has painted me into a corner
in my mind.
This is why I choose my healing
above all else.
When we are so mired in our pain
We can barely see that our HELL  is HELL,
because part of us thinks  that it will always be that way!


I called you crying my tears running down my face
waterfalls of pain,
runny mascara,
In the back of an ambulance
you my brother told me,
you were sorry
but to stop talking
because it hurt you ,
and you were too busy to come
help me!
Well guess what
there was NO ONE  ever to help me !!!!!!

I instead had to sit there in the hospital all alone
With nothing to my name
but Police records
Empty faces
pitying looks
And **** kits
I was too bruised too move,
There are some things one can't forgive
and this is one of them.

What's worse is this man who abused me ,
was like all the others
who preach modesty!

Why not preach kindness ,
love
equality
seeing women as equal,
as worthy of everything that you have
just because you have a *****,
doesn't make you better than me !!!!

One man who abused me called me
his femme fatale,
oh Hunny,I am worse than that if you mess with me!

I think for so long
I have been more afraid of myself ,
than anyone else
for the rage that is held inside of me
is enough to build buildings with !

So instead of telling you
TO GO  FUCKKKKK Yourself ,
which I have already done
to one of the abusers that I  had met  before,
I will say I remember it all
and my body doesn't forgive!

As the jewish new year comes around
in a few weeks,
I can count on my fingers all the sins that
all these horrific monsters of men
did to me ,
because men like these,
they aren't real men
they are monsters who pertend to be men.

Something is about
To happen that
We are not aware of
Our only chance
Is to keep our
Heads low and
Act like we're
Changed men
Because we're
Very close to
The end
We need to be
Okay with mysteries
And the stories
They breed
There will always be
Far more questions
Than there are
Actual answers
In this universe and
We need to be
Ok with that

the water is low
the sun  beets down forever
all  frogs to sleep

Thinking always brings everyone to a common level.
Thinking is the communist of mysticism.
It is a pool of common feelings.
Thinking makes one equal to all creatures.
Every atom is regarded the same.
And so thinking unites existence.

An unconscious self sabotage
The reprimanding echo
A bed of invisible nails

Without the smallest clue
What was this discomfort of?

Exhaustion, a cage without doors.
Menial tasks turned impossible
Stumbling around all dazed

Dressed to the ninth in neglect
I keep forgetting to live.

An unconscious self sabotage
The reprimands an echo
A bed of invisible nails

Without the smallest clue
What was this discomfort of?

Exhaustion, a cage without doors.
Menial tasks turned impossible
Stumbling around all dazed

Dressed to the ninth in neglect
I keep forgetting to live.

Remember when dreams
brought happiness?
And then, we grew up.

Every night  
before I sleep
I close my eyes
and begin to weep

I lay there watching
the curtains sway
In a room
I painted black and grey

Will the morning
ever come
why do I hope
to see the sun
when tomorrow
I’ll be going mad
hopelessly
feeling numb

Today, I stood underneath the bridge.
I looked up at how high I was going to fall in.
My eyes still hurt now from the tears I cried.
“No one cares about you” a voice whispered.
A loud ‘DING’ frightened me, it was followed by an annoying vibration.
They were calling me. They were worried about me.
I didn’t want to be under the bridge today.
The whisper led me here.
They tell me that once I’m gone, everything will be easier for everyone.

Then I think about my brother with no home.
My boyfriend left alone.
My siblings with no middle sister.
My class with no teacher.
My flatmates with no rent.

It would only be easier for me.
So I carry on, hoping that one day I’ll feel less empty.