his breath woke me up every night
we lay in bed; no, it wasn't
that his breath smelled of toxins,
but of dandelions and poppies.
his hair smelled like he rolled around in
fields of roses and he was
the single dandelion that begged and
pleaded to fit in.
he would never fit
in but he didn't know that, so
he kept trying and it was
so beautiful to say the least.
underneath his skin, in-between
his veins and his bones are tiny seeds that
i planted with kisses and they
grow with my love, when i wrap my
bony arms around him and
squeeze tightly - it lets him
know that he's not normal, that he's
not right in the head but
i love that. so when he wakes me
in the middle of the night, as
i lie between him and the emptiness of
the night, i think that i'm dying
but the moon light lingers and i
know i am safe with his flower breath
and the weeds growing in-between
us and the roots that grow out
of my heels and strangle the love
picture frames on our off-white
bedroom wall. i stare at those cookie-cutter
pictures and wish i wasn't right
in the head, too, but if we both were
psychotic, he wouldn't be a dandelion.
so i stay awake and watch
his beauty radiate in the darkness of
the night and wish that i
was that beautiful too. but he
tells me that my battle wounds don't
amount to anything to him, that my skin
is a ghost to him. i wish
he saw me for me, but his eyes
see the beauty that he grows.
but several nights he leaves me and
i am cold and i am worthless and
i pray to a god that he will
come back and taunt me because
i cannot stand it when he is
not here between my fragile arms
keeping me warm and safe.
i beg him when he returns to just
stay the night, just one more night,
because i cannot bare to
sleep without the dandelion amidst
all the rose petals. i need
my dandelion to keep me safe
and to be the needle in the
haystack - i need him to be in my
arms because idon'twanttosleepalone.

Before I went to bed I drank a glas of lemonade
To make my bad dreams go away
Sadly it didn't seem to work as my dreams turned into a very unpleasant charade.

Nightmares

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.

Hey, did you hear?
Sandman called yesterday
He asked me why my dreams are dead
He asked me about my nightmares
and how he couldn't change them into dreams

Hey, did you hear?
Sandman called yesterday
He asked me if I wanted depression
He's selling it on special
By the cost of a broken heart