Dear dad,

when you left, it broke mommy.
you hurt her
an then as soon as she tried to get better you tried to take me away
you hurt me deeply too you know
not only me
not only her
you hurt nana, poi.
you hurt us all
as soon as i was "old enough" i was used
and you defended your brother
because of course you did.
you chose him over me
i hate you.

i dont really.
i dont.
i love you
because im supposed to.

Love,
Holly.

time it is
she beckoned
time and I ate of it
the dread
the matter of her
no kiss of her
from her
honestly
no doubt, I knew...

it was dinner time

"eat me"
she labored
as dog in heat
spread her legs
as on stirrups
I be, the muzzle be her divorce from me
yank my collar, chain wrapped
about her hand
beckon me
"eat"
chain be her love I desire
collar be my patience given
but appetite?

mine be love
her beest pleasure
I have no appetite for
merely
pleasure
neither hers nor mine
sans love?

no appetite at all have I

eyes so weary of wanting
that I melt
as Salvador Dali prophesied
mine eyes droop
her thighs
wet my fantasies
as ice cream, on the hottest Sunday,
I am weak
weary of denying myself her
she, a mere rainforest of beauty
abundant in plural, though singular
her flower
droop me 'tween mine legs
raise me, as the dawn rises zenithly,
she pies me,
my piper, my charmed being
I'm pied
she has me
dancing, midriffly, with ****** fervor
mine eyes cast down
as shadow in sunset
lone tree in the wilderness
redfern shadow
a mile long
mine eyes cast down between her legs
seeing all my heart's desires

"eat"

and all my hopes dieth there

"eat"

despair, I mourn
I pine
"love me"
I opine, my lover love me
be not pleasure the measure of our stay, in bed, this Sunday
love me, as the Father hath given us this day
be not Eve of the forbidden love
be Dawn of the day we won eternal life from the devil's death
that my fruit be of your nectar drunk, that I be your pleasure,
and you be mine
that I succor thine fruit
hour by hour that you writhe
not as snake but as mountain shook
as mountain moved
faithfully, you love me,
let that fantasy be mine drink
and thine offering due my thirst
that love sate me,
nay?!

"eat!"

and all the world looketh empty of light

"eat! **** you"

and all the world be afright with wonder that I be man, yet, eat not my ******, that
she be heathen of love, still, my ****** she be,

simply,
that mine eyes drink her in
beauty beyond compare
but that mine ears deceive me not
for deceive me, her flesh does
but her forked tongue
as lightning streak
she shat the bed
that streak be her ****** blessing
dashed across her whorish ways
be that time
I linger in wait
wanting, but that I eat
she trappeth me
that all I be good for
is her pleasure
but be not fit
for her love

"eat! what are you good for?!"

nay, irony be that
time told
clock struck truth

"eat!"

nay

"what my flesh be, here, then?"

a trap,
and I say nay
for I be a lover
of such supple,
gorgeous,
womanly flesh, not, merely,
a ******...

"eat"

I be not hungry,
for a *****,
my flesh be purchased
but nay that my heart he purchased
neither my soul,
by merely, lust
I, too dearly, pine for you
dream of you
romance you deeper than form
and fit
time
and merciless pleasure
to be,
of you,
lustfully...
so, I say,

nay...

but,
that ye should, learn love me
perhaps,
that day

perhaps
then, yay

To be a woman:

To be a woman is to bleed.
From between our legs, as young as nine, when the only worry in our young minds should be about scraped knees from riding bikes and scooters, the visceral meaning of womanhood begins to leak through the soft cotton amour of childhood.
The impending doom of what could be warded off by a child's imagination has cracked and no longer can be repaired.
This is the fate of a woman.
From that day we bleed.
Shoving gauze of soft smiles and politeness into bullet holes bore into our bodies by men.
Anything to stop the bleeding and remain a fragment of the person we once were.
We’re blithe in the presence of grown men that become aroused to the notion of humiliating us.
We try to feign ignorance and keep a straight face in times of turbulence to maintain modesty.
Our nails embedded into our palms, we bleed.
And a storm has formed.
Through the storm we seek the same refugee we watched our mothers seek. Always thinking that the outcome will be different.
This one is not the same.
We’re not our mothers.
Our love is different.
It’s respected.
It’s mutual…
as long as you’re the one doing the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning and you pay your half and you look after the child that you nearly bled out for.  
Nurturing, tending, cooking and cleaning and ‘whoops’ watch the knife…

bleeding.
Always bleeding.
It’s equal love though, isn’t it?
It’s what you wanted, right?
When you bore two children and you’re raising three, that’s what you wanted. That’s what you bled for.
That’s what you bled for?

Who has he bled for?


He walks into the kitchen, boots scuffing the linoleum on the way.
Dumping the scrapped leftovers of love you gave him in the early out of the morning into the trash and tossing the containers into the sink.
He pats the heads of the people he pretends make him whole and goes to the shower to rinse off the 10 hour shift of hard labor that didn't involve his family.

You don’t expect a kiss at this point because you learned that asking for what you deserve could come with a broken orbital socket.
So you let your heart bleed.
You bleed it into your kids.
You let them know that they are loved.
You pretend that everything is okay.
You go to work, you come home, you bleed and you bleed and you bleed.

Hopeful that your daughter doesn’t see.

ive never understood why it happened
maybe i was misbehaving
maybe i was bad
maybe he just wanted to
to hurt me and make me sad

wheather it was my misbehavior
or his ***** second nature

i grew up mature
never a child
always an angel
never able to speak out

using my own words against myself

"i was too young to ask for that."

i never would have anyway.

-LJS

Attributes of the walking stick
hung around like charity shop clothing -
bagged and ready to go

It was a switch that had truely altered time again
(\ - this is not poetry it is gospel.)and a shower which managed to scrub off a few inches of the ***** dirt

a sectre of a cultural conversation
that stands for nothing
whether i'm ***** again ot not.

The chip shop gave me free water, and i just considered myself lucky at the time
but its starting to make me more suspicious now

and not in the way that i've seen my whole teenage and further years as a massive xenephobia crime made to seem more convincing through dehydration

1: when i was 4 i was a model. my mom starved me for a lot of that time. i quit when i was 5.

2: when i want to cut myself, i make myself read three books.

3: im hyperlexic. ive been reading since i was 3 1/2.

4: i have osdd 1-B but us "I/Me/Myself" for things so people dont get weird about it.

5: i love music

6: my family has 5 generations of teen pregnancy by ****.

7: my bio grandma was shot at 15 after having my mom.

8: ive been stabbed 3 times.

9: my dad fed me **** gummies on accident one time.

10: im using a kindle to write this. yes a kindle. black and white. meant only for books.

Beauty of life is with in the texture
The sense of a pain within the mixture
The cries that I lost in my smiles
The experiments that I have done with my life
All my 20s I was looking for an answer
Which I understood was in my head banging like a danger
I know the blessing of a curse and the beauty of the pain
The Islamic review of the daoist in the shame
The *** of the ****** and the addiction to romance
I never ***** anyone but it seems to everyone like that
I didn't know the facts, I was blinded by the pain
And as it seems, no body even cares
All the people I knew looked at me like a beast
Looked at me like a crazy person with a risk
I left everyone not be their curse
They were pushing me to pain to push me wide awake
I have been taught the hard lesson within the hardest way of life
What will be coming next can be even lost
The highway that I'm in or the high way that I might
I'm knocking on heaven's door, will I ever belong?

India ;
a country where
approximately, 80 rapes happen in a single day
(78 murders )( 23 fake alimony cases) ( burglery rate 7.2)
the country which allows and rewards rapists
letting them roam free

in a country that is so poor;
"the poor" are not even seen as human beings
killing them; ****** them ; driving a ******* whole car on them ;
and the jury will make you write a ******* essay
the system will blame the driver
and the society will blame the poor
such a pathetic nation

but we still sing
with pride every morning
forgetting every ******* case
every ******* human whose done such thing
and watching movies and other such media made by pedophiles , rapists , molesters , murderers