Make Hollywood Great Again.
It's the next new slogan, sans the men.
It'll be like Jolly Olde England,
The Elizabethan style, if you get what I mean!
Inverse women bejewelled in cod pieces
Preying on the men.
Not in an English accent, but more American:
******** won't mean the same;
Cuckold won't make sense,
But all the phenomenal men we know
Will need to share the pants.

I'm a victim, and;
I'm angry about it.
I'm enraged that I identify myself as such.
It infuriates me to think of myself this way.
It isn't an excuse.

It's not my fault;
That I still feel the betrayal like it was yesterday.
That I still flinch and cower when I think about it.
That my body may be healed, but my mind will forever be scarred.
But it was what I was led to believe.

And I'm ashamed;
That I let myself be angry.
That I let myself feel betrayed.
That I will always bear this scar.
But it is not my shame.

It's a part of who I am now;
It has made me stronger.
It has forced me to find my voice, and allowed me to speak out.
It has shown me that it may always be a part of me.

But it is not who I am.

I am a victim; of your crime.
My anger; is the result of your actions.
My shame; stems from your shameful acts.

After all this time, I realize, you were the victim;
To your jealousy; of my power.

You took away my power;
Tried to claim it as your own.

I have reclaimed my voice; and it is you who is powerless.

I am a victim; of yours; no more.

You hold no power over me.

My voice will be heard.

//

The definition of thot [that ** over there], via Urban Dictionary

A woman who pretends to be the type of valuable female commodity who rightfully earns male commitment—until the man discovers that she’s just a cheap imitation of a “good girl” who is good for nothing, and definitely not for relationships or respect.

If women are products, then thots are cheap goods. More than that, they’re knockoffs: low-quality merchandise that attempts to masquerade as luxury items.

They generally dress in cheap clothing, try to act like they're better than they really are, or think they're not ****** but high class when they're nothing close to classy. They demand respect, money, gifts, dates but do nothing to deserve any of it because they have no self-respect, no manners, low self esteem, little education and on top of all that they are thots because they have no self worth.

//

he called me a thot.
the same blood-boy nightmare who bragged about his ******* and double cup. too cheap to buy actavis generics, so he drank himself into a stupor on walgreens brand dye-free cough syrup. he acted black, said words white boys shouldn't have near their mouths. his friends were ableist at the best, and misogynist at worst.

he called other girls thots too.
but i was different. stick-and-poke told trans king who told american spirit who told blood-boy what i confided in a friend. a story that ends and begins with my tears, tears from gagging, tears from telling my mother about the worst three minutes of my life and how my knees and heart hurt afterwards.

i embodied thot.
left my family for friends, joked about the pain until it hurt even more. i found myself crying in bathroom stalls, looking down at my body in the bathtub as i learned to breathe water. the girls said i was thick, i didn't know if they meant it in a good way. the boys said worse. i wore camouflage pants, comme de garçons tops, air force ones. i jumped on trends like a wild cat stalking prey. but i could never catch anything worthwhile with my soft, clawed paws.

he smiled like he was better than me.
after blood-boy stunned summers and winters alike, burned spring and fall, and for what? to call me a thot? i knew what i was to him. but he didn’t define me anymore.

he called me a thot.
and this time i fought back with my eyes, didn’t just sit there and feel words welling up inside.
because even thots are queens.
because i used to be deciduous, but now i’m evergreen.


//

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.

His eyes are like black beetles rolled onto their backs, thick legs like lashes flickering in the movement it requires to take me in;
And I am exposed- again- to the disease they spread from living underneath the foundations of so many homes, not unknown, exactly, but pardoned as 'harmless’ and left
to live in the crawl spaces, where his real eyes roll between the cobwebs.

Therein the innocence of beauty, with all her God given curves, is curled up inside the belly of that glutton, and the stomach acid does the devil’s work in decomposing her;

We all have bruises on our necks, blooming in lavender colored thumbprints where he turned our faces forcibly away from him;
There is nothing so damning as a woman who has made eye contact with those insects,
Bite
Your
Tongue
Girl,

This is not about you.

This is about the ‘stumbling block’ you became to him,
This is about the disastrous eventuality of outliving your usefulness.
This is about the godforsaken body you were given to spite and entice him with,
And your ability to keep it carefully hidden.

We will not bite our tongues.
We are not the amalgamation of soft feminine lines, rent into the shapes you like them best,
Or the shapes you hate,
Or the constantly transforming flame of your carnality, with it's cruel hands around your throat.

We are not our bodies;
But they are ours.
We are not our bodies,
And we will not be easily devoured.

last night i was told that if i was truly *****, i wouldnt be “dressing like a ****”.

-

after you are touched by another person, they leave an invisible trace in your mind and on your body. that is not your fault.

it takes roughly seven years for the cells in your body to replace themselves. the past year has been spent in a state of hate filled dysphoria, and i refuse to allow him to claim any more of that time. my cells are in a state of rebirth, and i am patient with them.

unlike most **** victims, i have begun to learn to love my body. it is not my body’s fault that it was too weak to push him off of it. my body did not ask him to **** it, it specifically told him not to.

in six years, i will have a body that he did not touch. i am still affected by what happened, but i have accepted that it is not my fault.

i’m going to do it
i’m going to tell her
about what happened
almost three years have passed
but i’ll tell her
nothing can be done
it’s already passed
and he lives in california
but it will be off of my chest
though i will still dredge up the memories
still hear the fire in my ears
and feel the screaming in my soul
and my body
that never left
even now, i am
afraid of him
and of all like him
whether or not they are
i must be as careful as i can
as must all people
but now i will be living
a life without him
it will be
better eventually though i do not know
when it will be
but it will be
and the process has begun