Warning- This poem contains themes of self harm, suicide, ****** abuse, and more. If these topics trigger you I suggest you don't read this poem.

"I think your scars are beautiful." Said no one.
I carry the traumas of my past on my wrists and my thighs.
I feel like a gross monster.
Every day when I look in the mirror, I'm reminded of my pattern of self destruction and self hatred.

But I don't only have scars on the outside.
Open wounds exist inside me from the events of my past.
The memories replay in my mind like a movie theater,
and I watch myself suffer over and over again.
I see myself getting sexually abused, watching my parents drunken accidents.
I see ten year old me getting shoved into a countertop and I can still feel the physical and emotional pain.

Sometimes I want to slit my throat and cut up my wrists so I can be done with the **** this world has to offer,
But I know I can't go out like this, not so young.
I know that I have things to accomplish,
and I have goals to reach,
But it's so hard carrying this weight on my shoulders all the time.
I don't believe I deserve this.

Warning: This poem contains subjects of ****/SA and may be triggering.


I can't believe the irony.
You claim to disagree with **** and ****** harassment,
But you speak no remorse for your actions of abuse against me.
You say what you did wasn't bad, but you weren't the one being ****** over day by day by the girl who was supposed to be my best friend.
You weren't the one being manipulated,
Yet you play the victim and talk about how you were molested later in life
But you never cared to take accountability and apologize to the person you put through the same misery you ended up going through after the fact,
And you never cared to think about what you did to me and what you put me through.

I know and understand that we were young,
But that's not an excuse to say you did nothing wrong.
You didn't just do this when we were little,
This wasn't just a one time thing,
You did it over and over again for four years.
It was a recurring event that happened every time you begged to come over, or begged for my mom to let us sleepover
So you could manipulate me and ***** me over even more, making me more trapped in your web of lies and deception.

I find it stupid that everyone seems to take your side instead of listening to what I have to say about this situation,
When there is proof of you being a narcissistic liar and everyone knows it,
Yet they can't believe a word I say no matter how much I say it.

I don't even mean for this to ruin your life,
even though you ruined mine.
You left me with flashbacks and self destructive patterns I've become used to.
You made my life a living hell.

I've heard that you think my scars are ugly,
But they aren't nearly as ugly as your hideous personality and your manipulative tendencies.
When I see your face or think of you it makes me sick,
Almost as sick as I feel remembering what you put me through,
Like making me touch you, making me make out with you.
I never even wanted to do that in the first place,
I knew we were too young,
I wonder what everyone would think if they knew you were a sexually abusive *****.

my mist expires in your atmosphere
linen sheets adhere
around my throat, no fear
smell pheromones in the air
it's crystal clear, my dear
i am amiss without you near

self-controlled
white-knuckle hold
now conquered
cold and longing to spy a songbird
if only for a single moment
and nothing longer
i am somber but mighty fond of her
strong enough to say it still
and stronger now to do
smart enough to ponder it here
but dumb enough to squander it too
red hearts are lies
beating blood flows blue
it is true, did you hear?
i'm amiss without you near

i thought we were musketeers
turns out you're the puppeteer
pulling my strings, was as I feared
another way to ingratiate and endear
while I'm tied here waiting to hear a footstep
to take the next step
another level for this intimate project
but from this aspect with all due disrespect
you subject me to intense neglect
you're a ****** architect speaking scintillating dialects
only I can connect but I am a bad girl... so I guess I deserve it

my favorite show now that you mention
is when you are standing at attention
you brighten your eyes and your voice changes inflection
my indiscretion becomes your intention
but I digress, and bite through, throughout this blissful rendezvous
as we float like a feather into the bedroom together
past dawn until noon
it must be true
i am amiss without you

what fear did she feel when she was told that her womb would carry such a deity?
did she feel the fear that my heart did,
after he used my body as a play thing?
how heavy did her chest feel at the thought of loving a holy human being?

how long did she spend deconstructing her own virginity and actions?
mulling over what she may have blocked out of her young memory

did you feel violated, my dear, while you scrutinized what had happened to your body?
did the lack of violence scare you?
how frightening was the son of God, lodged into your fragile womb?

oh how i long to hold you
reassure you that you are not the grime that you feel deep in your gut
you are merely a girl, carrying the burden of the world’s greatest gift
but you never as much even volunteered

One day i will be gone.

Then you will see. All of you.

I can use cryptic messages to hide what they did.

To defend myself more then anything.

I try to help people.

So they don’t have to suffer alone.

But the truth is you never stop suffering.

The volume gets turned down. But the show is still playing.


*******.
You don’t know me.
I will not forgive you.

I’ve never had a simple answer
to who I am.
My head and soul—
they never matched
what the world expected.

Not my body—
that was never the issue.
But inside me—
there she was.
A whisper in the dark,
a smile behind my eyes.
Bertine.

She laughed when I said,
“You’re a boy, look down.”
She just smiled—
that quiet girl
who never gave up.

I was eight,
holding a gift in my hand,
heart pounding.
A blue plastic car—
my favorite.
She opened it,
looked surprised—
but she knew what it meant.
Good enough.

I was the only boy
at the birthday.
But inside,
I was more than that.
In love, wild, confused—
and full of fire.

The teenage years came.
I tried it all,
loved both,
knew little—
but felt everything.
Makeup, rings, Prince blasting loud.
Feminine and masculine
at once.
Borderless.

Today I say bisexual,
but that’s just a word.
I’m more than a label.
I’m me.
With Bertine in the bracelets,
the rings,
and Odin hanging from my neck.

I write this
for anyone who feels the same.
For that kid who says:
“I feel a little different.”
Tell them:
“You’re good enough just as you are.”
Because that’s what it’s about.

Standing strong
in your own truth.
Even when it doesn’t fit
in someone else’s **** box.

One day,
I’ll stand in front of the mirror
and won’t look away.

My eyes won’t dodge
the reflection
of a girl who’s lived through too much
but still stayed.

I’ll touch my skin
without flinching.
I’ll wear softness
without shame.
I’ll trace every scar
like a map
of where I didn’t break.

The weight of their hands
will no longer sit on my chest.
Their voices will fade
into silence.
And mine
mine will rise.

I’ll love myself
gently,
fiercely,
with all the compassion
they never gave me.

And the mirror?
It won’t be a punishment.
It will be a promise
that I came back to me.

Not the same.
Not untouched.
But alive.
And healing.

The burgundy lighting
Is oh so exciting
I'm lush and inviting
For all to see
My body is moving
The dance Im resuming
Cigarette smoke is pluming
Look at me

I dance for hours
Until early hours
For higher powers
Whom pay for me

To leech off my fleet and to preach on deciet to forgive or forget I don't know

The threat is consuming
You hate me? Well sue me
I don't give a **** about what you please
If you were halfway decent
I'd let you get even
In light of the recent events

But I'm just a body
Meat to be discarded
I am not your Bunny
And I am not Holly

i lust insist
tense under ruttish restraint and expectation
                                                     ­             trussed