It was January the 19th, 2011.
I was 15, he was almost 16.
I had only ever spoken to him once online.
He was like a mythical creature that I found out actually existed.
He had been at my school the whole year and I never seen him before.
I remember seeing him look at me.
I thought his eyes were as blue as the sky.
I felt my face blush as he spoke.
Later he asked for my number.
We began talking and he immediately had me hooked.
I pretended not to care,
but I let him know how I felt the next day.

I remember it was January the 26.
The day I got home to see a weird text on my phone.
It said he was lying.
That he was nothing but a lie.
I texted him,
hoping he would have a good excuse.
That's when he apologized,
and said those three words.
The three words he knew I had never heard from a guy like him.
"I love you" he said.
I stopped.
I was young and dumb,
and he knew that.
He knew I couldn't turn away from him.

It was February the 2nd.
We were outside,
just talking like we always did.
That's when he grabbed me,
we stopped and he leaned in.
I broke away and hugged him,
I pretended to not know what he truly wanted.
He then held me in place,
and kissed me.
My first kiss.
I hated it,
but I told myself it was magical.
I bragged and smile,
but inside it felt like a hurricane had been released inside of me.
My first real taste of the anxiety I know so well now.

Fast forward.

It was July the 4th, 2011.
We watched the fireworks with my friends.
Everything seemed magical.
The one thing keeping us apart was gone.
I felt so free and happy.
He kissed me more this night.
Even though there was nothing to feel guilty about,
I still didn't feel right.
But I ignored it and we continued our night.
That was the night we started our relationship, officially.

After that,
things get blurry,
but I remember some things so well.

I remember spending time with him after football games.
We'd get away from the crowds to talk,
but he always wanted more.
Each time he grew more forceful,
but I was able to push him away,
sometimes...

Then I turned 16.
I felt this age would be better.
I'd be stronger.
I could handle myself better,
and no one could hurt me.
This was going to be my year.

I was wrong.

I remember the first time he touched me.
It was the first time my parents actually trusted him alone with me.
I tried telling him not to.
I tried to resist and say no.
He didn't care.
He continued.
I remember praying for it to end.
I didn't know what to do.
He said it was love.
I told him it wasn't okay.
He was persistent.
He didn't care.

I remember when I started going along with the things he did,
just so I didn't feel as broken when he tried forcing me into things.
Each time,
I felt as if I died a little more.
I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating,
but it's truly how I felt.
I was a 16 year old who never imagined her life would be this way.
I felt defeated.
I wanted to run,
but my feet felt grounded.

I remember the times I fought back.
I remember him continuing.
I remember him pinning me down.
I would've cried if I wasn't trying to hide the shame I felt.
I wanted so badly to scream.
I wanted someone to save me.
No one came.
No one was there.
I somehow fought t him off before anything too awful happened,
but my spirit was still broken.
I still felt empty.
Broken.
Worthless.

I remember when I found out he cheated on me.
First it was with a girl who lived miles away.
I was hurt,
but I directed my anger towards her.
I don't understand why I was angry.
I should've just let her take him...
but I was young and stupid still.
Then I found out he was seeing a friend of mine.
That was the first time I self-harmed.
Because he didn't care that I knew.
He continued,
and he said he didn't care with no remorse in his voice.
This broke me.
I had so long believed that he truly cared for me,
and he suddenly seemed to see me as a nuisance.
Again...
I forgave him.
Like a stupid little lovesick girl,
I let him back in my life.
One of the biggest mistakes of my life.

Things got worse.
He began to count my flaws.
"You're boring".
"You don't do enough".
"You need to put out so I know you love me."
Word by word,
he tore me down.
I tried telling myself it would work.
I wanted it to work.
So as the words cut deep into me,
and as he continued to get more and more physically forceful,
I continued fighting for him.

By age 17,
I was turned to stone.
I didn't see those "sky blue eyes" I tried fantasizing about.
They were now just ice-cold and soulless.
The things he said didn't phase me much anymore.
I still tried fighting for myself
but it gradually got to the point where I felt too exhausted to fight.
I tried making us work,
but there wasn't much to salvage.
He was destroying all the hope I had since the beginning.

February 2013.
We had been arguing one day,
the whole day.
He wanted to go to some party that weekend.
I knew there would be girl and drinking.
He couldn't be trusted.
I knew what he was planning.
I told him I didn't want him going.
He wouldn't listen.
He continued to tear at me,
with those harsh words he knew were knives to my heart.
That night he called.
We instantly began arguing.
"I'm going, whether you like it or not!"
he exclaimed in an 'I'm in control here' voice.
"Then we're over."
I said bluntly.
"What? Are you serious?" he sounded so defeated.
I loved it.
I then told him I was serious and hung up,
with no explanation.
I think he called back and I told him I was honestly done.
I then called my friend who I told everything to.
I told him how I was sad everything was over,
but for the first time in almost 2 years,
I felt free.

For weeks he begged for me back.
Even after his secret girl had came forward,
and told me he had been cheating our entire relationship.
He actually thought I would come crawling back to him,
and it killed him to have no power over me.
I loved having so much power over him,
but I was not harsh.
I just said goodbye and lived my life away from him.
Not once did I even begin to say yes to his pleas for me to return.
Even when I felt broken down and lonely,
I refused to ever even exist next to him.

Weeks turned into months and he was still persistent.
I'd get a text every single month from him,
asking how I was.
Telling me he missed me and still loved me.
Each time I'd just say something like "Sorry".
I wasn't sorry.

Fast forward to the end of that year.
I hadn't seen him in awhile.
My loneliness had somehow developed into unresolved anger.
I realized everything he had done to me.
I understood that he had destroyed my self esteem...
my self worth.
The next time I seen him he tried saying hello.
I screamed at him.
He never tried speaking to me again.

I'm 20 years old now.
I am engaged to a wonderful man.
We have dreams and goals that we will accomplish.
He tells me I'm beautiful.
He is the one for me.
His eyes are blue.
Sky blue.
The warmest eyes I've ever seen.
He's been with me at my worst,
and supported me through my best.
He is the one I was looking for when I was 15.
It took awhile to find him,
because of the guy with the ice-cold eyes.
But I still found him.

It's been at least 2 years since I've seen the guy who once broke me.
I seen his mom the other day,
she stopped and told me how she never forgot me,
and that she accidentally calls other girls me all the time.
She also told me that he is getting married soon.
Years ago,
I would've said something like "I feel sorry for that girl"
or maybe "Tell him I said I wish him the worst, okay?"
But I politely smiled,
said to send my best to them,
and told her that I had to hurry home to my fiance.

That's when I realized something.
Although I break down sometimes,
and I have moments where I wish I could just scream in his face,
and punch him,
and hurt him as bad as he hurt me...
at the end of the day I remember,
he has no control over me anymore.
I am free from him.
I may never see his face again,
and I am okay with that.
Yes.
He did break me.
But because I was once broken,
I found out I was strong enough to heal.
I realized that I am not weak like he had me believing I was.
I am strong.
I have value.
And I will never have to feel the pain he put me through again.

There are demons
on my boat.
Shhh
You’ll wake them and then I
won’t be able to look away from them.
It is an all too simple
contract; our deals
sealed in tears and thickened, old blood;
silences coating emotions,
covering sounds and words, and smiles and secret screams.
Shhh
You’ll wake them if you come near me.

There are demons
on my boat.
I steer my lonely ship onwards,
beneath the hesitant moon, and restless stars.
Bright, dark, bright, dark.
It’s still, a smooth mirror reflecting an endless sky;
I don’t disturb the empty ocean, unsettling in all its quiet rage.
Its hidden heart.
I am willed to follow my aimless line, as far as I can travel
on the
numbing breeze.

There are demons
on my boat.
I promised them I’d behave.
I am not allowed to wander, not allowed to explore without
a rambling mind;
I am not to follow the course of other ships I see,
or meet the deserted spits of land I’ve let float by,
or travel with company that stills me,
or make my own speed that goes against the tide.
They scrawled words along the wooden boards,
scored crude nail marks one evening while I slept,
hovered over and drooled on me with teeth I could feel
the ****** and beads of blood.
They scrawled words that told me they would leave me be,
if I left them be.

There are demons
on my boat.
And now I see a ship, with bright red sails,
drift to land not too far away;
a flaming banner across the surface of my shadowed sea.
I move my wheel, aimed at land-
assailed.
Onslaught of teeth and scales and spidery limbs,
pointed daggers and sabres of nail,
breathing hot spit and foul stench,
musty rot and all
rushed at me.
Blackened ooze of shapes and
distorted beasts;
I can’t take in any air that isn’t
toxic, ash making my eyes water.
Too gruesome to stare at them, intensely black,
yellow eyes and a multitude of ravenous, slick tongues.
I right the wheel,
and they creep back,
to rest in the shallows of my boat,
biting nails and shedding skin,
keeping guard on me.
Watching.
Restless flashes in the shadows hunted by the sun,
and drawn out under the moon.
Waiting.

There are demons
on my boat.
And it has been like this
for lengthy years.
Hopelessly blind and painfully aware,
at once,
of frozen breaths down my neck,
and bubbling fear inside,
of feelings.
Anything that leave me open to onslaught.
Anything that opens windows and lets their darkness
trail in,
tumble around and entangle innards,
I’m left speechless and sore inside,
nursing wounds I suppress.

There are demons
on my boat.
And the scary thing.
Is that I’ve made peace with them, and their scrutiny.
Yet I see birds above and blue trembles beneath me,
green jungles to the left and empty sands to the right.
And I refuse to hide and cower in peace.
Now.
I once again move my hands and face the
glimmer of land I see-
and they come rising from their graves of slumber.

There are demons
on my boat.
But they aren’t that terrifying under the sunlight.
They hurl abuse in my face,
spitting and writhing and screeching;
But their scales are actually just drifting smoke,
their nails just scraps of tattered fabric,
eyes just glinting stones and teeth just blunted stumps.
They scream and bleed before me,
because I’m focused on the distance behind them.
After hours, they retire,
like burnt out candles, the smoke dissipates.

There aren’t any demons
on my boat.

A crumpled dress thrown like rags

upon the floor.

The hopeless, desperate appeal

of rumpled bed sheets, a fortress of

your own.

Waiting for a message in silence,

curled and surrounded by your

dismembered pieces.


The days when you shy away from

the light;

Wrapped in a wall of quiet,

except this isn’t calm.

It’s an unbearable weight,

marking impressions on your skin.

It’s a deep, roaring stillness;

gushing, rolling and sweeping around

everything you touch.


People can leer,

eyes prying to find what

little cracks you speak of.

But they are immune to what you feel,

layered beneath your skin;

what you see etched in coloured mixes,

painted brushstrokes making art around you;

what you hear and sense;

what you think, to yourself,

the countless visions and places you peek

behind doors unknown to them.


The freedom you alone shall know;

yet all the painful days to follow.

The brilliance you alone can seek;

yet the relentless torments you are to meet.

The feats of strength, russet desire and

hidden depths you could show;

yet all the nervous energy,

self conscious woe you show.


You can be the exhibit of both worlds.

You know what it is to feel the deep burn

of quiet pain inside,

yet the warmth of healing and the

fiery blaze of strength.

Be the exhibit you know you are.

Render even the most lonely and heartbreaking

of your moments beautiful.

Because they truly are.


You may feel broken, torn and ripped in places

you long forgot could be wounded.

You may feel empty, insides carved out for

another’s purposes.

You may feel bereft, lost, confused and vague,

feeling the frightening gaze of the unknown making you

their favourite puppet.


But burdens can be treasures.

Use them and invite people to your show.

Make them laugh, cry and grow.

Your burdens and treasures are necessary,

to be the exact person you are.

Without them there is numbing, nothing.

And you,

you can be more beautiful than that.

She paints herself, to better blend in;

She pampers and softens,

                                     she plans all the right moves.

She frets, ruffling her dusty feathers,

so battered and dull, the sheen lost

to empty restless nights alone;

alone and growing cold in the night.

She panics, blood rushing in waves,

crashing against her organs,

breath blown like strong wind.

She picks her clothes,

covers herself in shrouds;

she knows you will be looking.

She knows you will map her out;

the rivers and channels that create her landscape.

She paces, wondering if she will be

enough for you.

She only wants to be what you desire.

She wants to be the last thing you see

before you fall into sleep;

the memory you search for in your dreams.

She only yearns to have you coming back;

wishing to see more of her.

Be with her.

Love her.

Is this what we must do?

Morph into another, less wholesome,

creation of ourselves

to secure love and emotion?

How many forms can we take?

Is this just going to be a

battle;

a raging brutal clash of

shape-shifting and anxiety?

Are we just going to tally

the numbers of different self

we can create walking out

of bloodied bedrooms?

The scars of each transformation

hiding on secret patches of skin.

I’m running out of choices…