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Gray Jun 2019
the way
he grabbed you,
and hurt you
reminded me
all too much
of him being
it isn't completely about you, sweetheart
i wish i could make it better
natalie Feb 2018
"i'd rather die," i say, with your fist pressed to my cheek
               "i need you here," you say, as you cry...
                                  my face is bleak.
Niki Kastaneida Nov 2017
You said things,
these things that hurt
we thought something
you proved wrong
you tried to change,
It didn’t work
we left,
not turning back
you begged for forgiveness
she gave it
we went back
and forth
for years on end
you hurt us,
far too many times
yet she couldn’t leave,
not for good
one night,
everything changed
things were thrown along with words
I hid
police were called
Into custody you went
bruises covered her
my blood boiled
you begged again
and again
I had had enough
for a long time
I saw what you are
she didn’t
she cried for you
I comforted
she finally stopped going back
I wasn’t sure,
sure she wouldn’t waver
she tried
and tried
and tried
and didn’t go back...
heather Jun 2016
I'm six years old. I'm six years old and my favourite colour is green because it's the colour of my eyes and I think my eyes are the prettiest things I have ever seen.

I'm eight years old. I'm eight years old and I had a nightmare so bad I felt like my eyes were deceiving me. My favourite colour is now the same pale blue as my Mum's floral bedsheets because they make me feel safe.

I'm ten years old now. I'm ten years old and I'm a big girl because I'm allowed to walk to school with my friend instead of my Mum. We walk past fields of buttercups and other pretty flowers but my new favourite colour is the peach of the rose in my front garden.

I'm twelve years old. I'm twelve years old and I can't stand the colour green anymore because the meaner people in my school decided my self worth was less important than their jokes. I don't have a favourite colour anymore, but if you ask I'll say it's purple.

I'm fourteen years old. I'm fourteen which means I've been a teenager for a year and I still can't stand the colour green. My Mum let me dye my hair for the first time and now it is red and red is my favourite colour, but if you asked I would still tell you it's purple.

I'm sixteen now. I'm sixteen and I think I know everything, I met a boy that I like for the first time, my Mum doesn't know, but I think he makes the colour green a bit easier to look at because he told me he loves my eyes and that they are the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He gave me a pair of rose tinted glasses and I'm not quite sure why, but for now my favourite colour is the deep brown of his eyes but if anyone asks, my favourite colour is still purple.

I'm eighteen now. I'm eighteen and I can finally drink without it being illegal, and I have started drinking to forget everything except the colour of my Mum's pale blue floral bedsheets, the peach of the rose in my front garden, the bright red of my hair and the green of my eyes but most of all I'm drinking to forget the purple of the bruises that litter my skin, the purple that I always insisted was my favourite colour for reasons unknown to me.

I should be twenty years old now, and my favourite colour should be the orange of the sunset, the pink of the sunrise or maybe even the yellow of the buttercups in the fields I used to walk past on my way to school, but I did not make it to twenty years old. My favourite colour was never purple and I never asked for my skin to be constantly tainted that way, but you made sure I never healed and now my Mum is laying purple flowers on my grave and she's wishing she fought more to get my favourite colour to be green again like when I was six years old and in love with myself and the world around me, because if I still loved the innocent green then maybe I wouldn't be suffering my greatest nightmare as a child with the only comfort being tucked up in the seemingly endless sea of brown. I always tricked myself and everyone else into thinking things were perfect with rose tinted glasses but the lenses shattered and the last flower you laid on my grave was the peach coloured rose from my front garden, and now the petals have wilted and all of the colour has been drained from me but this new world has more hues than I could have ever dreamed of.
this is the longest poem I have written and also the first with these themes and I am very scared please be kind to me
What gives a father
The idea
That he has the right
To abide his son?
Hit him?
Hurt him?
Bully him?

Why does he think
That just 'cause he's bigger,
He can tear him down?
Break him?
Beat him?

How is he okay
With taunting his own child?
Criticizing him.
Telling him
He'll never be good enough.
A disappointment.
A failure.
Sarah Kersey Aug 2015
As humans we seem to develop this idea
that our hearts are this indestructible piece of us
And yet each time our heart gets cracked
we act as if a band aid
will do the bullet wound justice

There’s a silver paperclip
trying to hold two ripped edges
of my heart in place
where the phrase
“you’re the worst person I’ve ever met”
cracked me open with a clean break
Even though you shot those words at my kneecap,
it took fifty six stitches
to fix the minor damage done to my heart
My brain still hasn’t recovered

There’s a ***** band aid
taped over the confession
“I couldn’t take that away from you”
that’s peeling off
like it’s been run underwater
I didn’t have the heart to tell you
that the sunflowers
you were so infatuated with
were simply holograms
I could tell you I tried CPR
and every revival technique in the book
on those flowers
but those dead ******* petals
are still rotting inside my chest

There’s a patch of Elmer’s glue
desperately trying to mask the fact
that you spit the words
“why can’t you just be happy”
at me like they were poison
Sometimes when the clock ticks
into ungodly hours
I feel the glue start to decay
like my happiness has been for years
Despite all the colored paint
My brain remains blue and your words remain toxic

Even after all these heartbreaks
I still feel my heart persistently beating inside my chest
Hoping for more that is out there
Sarah Kersey Aug 2015
Over the course of my unavoidably finite life I have always looked for the best in people
I believe that every human being has a soul
I believe that deep down within all of us
Beneath our silver hearts and our metal lungs lie good intentions
We stray from these as time passes
Time, an irrelevant concept at the most
Has made us all fools
We agonize over the number of minutes we are wasting as our lives drag on
Throwing away seconds like used tissues
Throwing away people like used tissues
Throwing away our lives like used tissues

We wreck everything around us
Concern is a forgotten custom
We would do anything to forget
We are all very quick to judge

We treat everything as disposable and recklessly dive into the unknown for the chance of excitement
But as an unavoidable result,
We wreck everything around us
There are men walking the streets with shoes tied to their backs whistling a tune about a man ******* ******* and getting money
This man doesn’t have a dime to his name and the last time he made love to a woman she screamed in disgust when she saw the disease he picked up from another man when he was 17 and ******
There are women waiting in the shadows of the alleys, waiting for their prey to come along and take them for a spin just for a Benjamin Franklin or two
This woman was taught that *** was a way to survive and that Benjamin Franklin could save anything, since that was all her dad sent her in the mail, as if that was an okay way to make up for leaving
There are teenage boys staring down at green leaves crumbled into nothing and white candied sugar that doesn’t taste so sweet
This Harvard bound boy just threw it all away because the pressure became just a bit too much and the only escape that was left was in the form of artificial highs that will destroy his brain until he’s as useless as a used tissue
There are teenage girls who are downing a bottle of coconut *** and getting on the road to go home so they can take their AP exam the following morning
This broken hearted girl who was just trying to forget her ex by swallowing the taste of Hawaii just killed another man in a head on collision
We wreck our lives for the pure possibility of enjoyment
We are all just looking for ways to forget and make up for all these lost moments that don’t even exist
A moment is never truly lost because it ceases to exists
Yet we forget this all in the thrill of it

Time is just a sugar coated limit on our lives that we fret over in order to worry about something
But maybe what we should be worrying about is the boy snorting coke in the bathroom
Not only should we be worried about his inhalation of the fast white lady,
But we should also be concerned over the circumstances surrounding him
He’s got scars on his wrists that he’s gained from war
Not Vietnam or Iraq but the war in his mind
But maybe we should be worrying about the girl selling herself on the street
She’s got eyes like fire but there’s burn marks slashed across her back from her “mother” shoving her onto the hot burning stove when her daddy left as a way to get out her anger
But maybe we should be worrying about the man with the shoes on his back
The disease that girl avoided will **** him in a matter of months and he hasn’t spoken to his mother in 10 years
She’s about to lose her only son to the ground because of some stupid party and some washed up drunk boy just looking for a good time without any concerns or protection
Or maybe we should worry about the teenage girl whose sitting in the jail cell drunk off her *** and being charged with vehicle manslaughter
Her ex is now lying under a white sheet, dead as can be, all because she was stupid enough to try to get amnesia from a bottle of forbidden poison

We would do anything to forget
We **** up our lives for the pure chance of amnesia
We all just want our innocence back
That teenage girl would love to forget how she lost her virginity to a boy who didn’t love her
But now she’s wearing black at a funeral staring at the face of a man she truly did love with her hands trapped in handcuffs behind her back
The man with the shoes would love to forget how he was once a straight-A student destined to be the next Steve Jobs
But all because of some frivolous party and the sleeping he did in his health class freshman year, he’s given up on the possibility of love and companionship and he’ll be rotting in the ground next to his father by the age of 34
The teenage boy would love to forget what it’s like to live with a beast in your mind with a red name tag stamped with the title ‘depression’
But instead he’s slashing his wrists in the bathroom as his blood splatters across the remaining ******* that lines the basin of the sink
The woman would love to forget the story of her accidental conception
But instead she hides in the alleys looking like a replica of her dad and just a little too much like the woman at the post office he got a bit too friendly with
We drown ourselves in the possibilities of falling into this idealistic dream world laced with melatonin and codeine as our brain collapses in on itself and our memories float away
This is the dream
Yet we cannot grasp it

We are all very quick to judge
We are all self-absorbed beings who form opinions on these four humans who are built of the same skin and bones as us
Yet we don’t take a second to look just a little bit deeper
The woman you considered a ******* whose been abused and beaten by a mother that’s not even her own?
She has a college degree and won three spelling bees when she was 12 years old
She can spell the word promiscuous faster than you can breathe out
She’s got flower crowns wilting in her closet that contain rotting lilies from her wedding bouquet
Her husband left her just like her dad did
The teenage boy, who you considered an emo, suicidal, washed up ******* addict?
He volunteers at the hospital and tries to help other kids suffering from the same disease that plagues his mind, even though he can’t help himself
He listens to only country music and sometimes when he picks his sister up from ballet recitals, they sing it together, extra loud with all the windows down
The man you judged as a homeless, lonely, STD-ridden loser?
He’s got thousands and thousands of dollars he pays to a nurse each week to take care of the mother he hasn’t spoken to in 10 years
He grew up on nothing, with only shoes on his back, and made himself into something
He made himself into a millionaire over a silly idea that resembled Facebook
And now he’s resorted back to his childhood ways in order to keep a woman healthy that kicked him out of the house when she found out he was bisexual
The girl who you considered some ******, blonde, drunk idiot who just killed her ex by pure accident?
She’s a natural brunette and she only dyed her hair because her ex told her it would make her pretty
Her self-esteem is so low it lies in the core of the earth, burning in hell, where she believes she’s going to end up because she lost her virginity before marriage
She’s got a purity ring resting in the threads of her carpet and a ****** wrapper in the trash laced with regret
She fell in love with somebody who treated her like she thought of herself, and she let him take the only part of her she had pride in because she believed he loved her

But now the woman with the flower crowns hiding in the alley has become a victim of **** because of some ******* who wasn’t carrying a Benjamin Franklin or a ******
But now the boy with a love for Luke Bryan is lying on the bathroom floor of some high school party in a pool of his own blood, slipping into oblivion
But now the man supporting his mother is in the hospital because of a disease in his genitals
But now the teenage girl is in prison for life

These are all just stories of imaginary people
Yet it all feels deathly real
Take us back to our youth
Take us to a land of the forgotten
Sarah Kersey Aug 2015
I thought that if I was your punching bag
then you’d have a reason to keep me around
So I didn’t bat an eyelash
when your monstrous hands
locked around my throat
You whispered words like “beautiful”
and contradicted them with words like “worthless”
Because even though
I couldn’t breathe
at least you found me desirable

You find me repulsive now
So I didn’t flinch
when you kicked me in the shins
with the force
of a wrecking ball
because you told me
that you were fascinated
by my skin when it bruised
Because even though
I couldn’t walk
at least you found me
something worth looking at

You don’t look me in the eye anymore
Eventually your punching bag here
took one too many hits
and started to look a little too broken
for your taste
Now this broken *******
lies in a dusty corner of your mind,
another addition to the collection of items
you could no longer find a way to love
after they broke
freeing the mind May 2015
The hurt , the pain, the fights,
For others were unseen sights,
Hidden away, at home the secret would stay,
carefully thought of,
A fear which was never sought of,
For a child should have been unknown,
They were not even fully grown.

The emotions they had to deal with, had nobody to truely feel them with , not knowing , when it would be , the future they wish they could see , it could happen at any time , the kid should have been in her prime.

The smiles infront of others ,
The constant unsure stutters,
The acts of being brave,
Are the ones others generally crave,
Trying to escape the sudden calls, and after can hardly even crawl.

Waiting for this all to end, abit of safety would have been a god send, to talk of it now , we are still unsure how, the marks may no longer be there, but still we doubt if they care , to trust people everyday is much more difficult than they say.

This thing everybody knows of, but still is hardly spoken of, the children won't say it, adults prey among it, this problem needs to stop or it will hit an all time top.
Written about child abuse but onviously can be connected to any kind of physical or emotional abuse .
Tia Daubas Feb 2015
The first time I met you, I tasted blood in my mouth. You reeked of ***** and misogyny and bad intentions. You reeked of my mother’s rotting happiness.

Every time I saw you my skin turned to Braille, but that never gave you the right to try and read it. See, the small of my back was not your pocket, my chin was not your coffee cup and my shoulder was not a place for your crocodile tears. You don’t have to touch a person to know them.

When you realized I wasn’t a tween romance novel, you started to read my mom like she was self-help book. But I knew you were illiterate the day my mother’s makeup foundation couldn’t find the exact shade that went with black eye. The cut on her lip was just a new shade of lipstick and the bruises encircling her neck and wrists began to look like jewelry. She told me they cost more than any pearls she’s ever owned. And like Samson, my mother’s hair was cut short. But it was by her doing. What good was strength when you were the one pulling her around by it?

But the moment we found out that she was carrying life inside of her your hands had to find a new hobby. I suggested training your fingers on how to pack a bag but instead you chose how to learn to pick up bigger bottles. It was a relief to see my mothers stomach swell rather than her face but 9 months is nothing compared to 18 years.

The only solace I find in you being in my brother’s life is that I won’t have to teach him how to hate you, he’ll already know. And I’m counting down the days until the ocean in his veins form a category 5 hurricane. I’m counting down the days until he destroys you.

— The End —