She* gave too much to others,
And forgot about herself.

Your name
Is nails on a chalkboard,
Slipping from my tongue like the slime of unwashed plates.
Vowels left unattended, a man at the door asking to be let in
Whom I don't know.

Your name
Is the creaking of a staircase,
Sending chills up my spine, for I am the only one who's home.
Syllables upended, a vase of ashes on the rug knocked over
By what I tell myself was the wind.

Your name
is the clicking of a lock,
opened from the outside
When only I own the key.
Consonants only hinted, a stillness in the air that settles on my skin.

Your name
Is haunted,
And it's ghost sleeps on my sheets
leaving behind the scent of roses and stomach acid
In it's wake.

The last time we met it was raining
and the stampede of raindrops on the roof
must have made it hard for you to hear.
I had wanted to tell you about my mother
how I wasn’t yet five feet tall
when she was six feet under.
Lover, listen.
Incurable illnesses cannot recognize
the plumpness of an over ripe nectarine
from the plumpness of a woman’s breast.
And the last time we met I don’t think you heard me say
that my name is Amelia
because you kept moaning Sarah.
Now, lover.
I understand the impossibility of moving on
but I’ve run out of excuses to make.
There’s no Lauren or Patrice
just me in these sheets.
Lover, please.
Pick me.

I feel like he has a part of me,
Something that needs to come back,
He needs to give up,
And try to re-run the track.

It leaves me with a feeling if doubt and regret
A nasty taste of hatred I must forget.

It is you I feel,
Never let my name depart from your lips again
Never look me in the eyes
Or tell me your lies
For I will be departing getting off at the next stop
For I feel too little or too much to give up.

In a weary series of redundant repetition.
I feel less of a hearty player, but more of
a lethargic field whos reapings are to far from succession.
Evolution happened somewhere along the
way.
Somewhere along the way we forgot there's nothing more powerful than the verbosity of our name.

Hearing one's own name
Makes one feel so loved
And known and
from the right (or wrong) lips
(or hands)
It can send a thrill through your
Tummy
and make you wish it was a record
that you purposefully broke.

my second most read poem.
recording over 1000 reads.
with 0 likes,
in 3 collections I added it too.

the title.
is the reason there are no likes,
and the fact someone can't like a poem about *******,

when I talk about how they had lost their respect,
compared to any girl out there,

makes me feel less and less confident about the fact,
someone acted on my body like that,

for someone to be not only ***** but then physically abused,
and trying to spread the news

to show you what it does to a girl,
how gross you feel to look at yourself when ur mom wants to hurl,

where u lie when people ask you about your burn,
because you feel the torture will come back.

where you let anyone grab them.
because your blessed with triple D cups,

and at least you feel like you're not worthless,
and  because I named it grab my *****,
I dont Care,
I got no likes,

Like a boy gave my body,
No respect,

I think thats as fair to say as what he did to me,
as it's as fair to know I have a little over 800 views on the poem below,
and 20 likes.
about trauma too.
I don't get how this all adds up,

I got poems written about the same exact thing,
with 2, 3, 4 likes, not even 400 views some barley 200!
all about being ***** and abused,
but how come this one,
had been ignored,
and overlooked,
a ******* name,

thats cowardly
like a ******,
like an abuser,
were not one person could give someone respect after it was all taken from them,
and they wrote about it.
I just..

Let’s go somewhere

Far away,

Where no one tells us

What to say,

And nobody sees us

And knows our names,
Far away from their
Petty little games