maybe it's the fact i've been living in garbage, surrounded by rotting food and ***** laundry, because i can't find the energy to get out of bed, because i've been to depressed to anything but eat and feel sorry for myself and stew in not only my own sweat and dirt but my suicidal thoughts.

maybe it's the yellowing teeth because of the countless cigarettes i smoked to get the approval i craved of my boyfriend--sorry, EX boyfriend--who dumped me for seeking acceptance from his friends because it reeked of narcissism, because i was acting out of low self esteem and desire for validation.

maybe from the early signs of gum disease because of the substance abuse i was groomed to believe was the new vogue, or because blacking out every night is what freshman do and not a concerning coping mechanism i was using to hide a bigger issue.

maybe it's a result of the judgmental looks and comments on my worth from men and women alike because of my self medication in the form of intimacy and ****** attention--the ease at which i could be led to bed: through a lazy, slurred compliment and promises of a ride home in the morning (and not to mention means of keeping my mind off of my trauma.) or how after spending my last $10 at the bar i would consistently rely on my ability to give a peep show of the same body that was violated a year ago for a free shot of tequila that burned all the way down and a grimy slice of lime.

or maybe it's because despite it being over 365...366...367...too many ******* days since his filthy hands and body introduced itself to mine uninvited, despite not 1 but 2 police reports, despite 5...6...7...endless calls with victims advocates, despite 1...2...who knows how many failed semesters, despite 1 too many failed suicide attempts....

i was still *****.

Growing up in a loud and boisterous world,
makes it easy to seek solace in the
shadows
It allows for a fine-tuning of the senses,
in order to mirror what those around you
show

Quietly and dutifully, you play nursemaid
to everyone else's needs
Eventually losing touch with that inner voice that pleads

Remaining consistently neutral and in-tune
with others, has seemingly served
you well
Though the waves of ignored and
forgotten emotions, uncontrollably start
to swell

So becoming comfortable projecting a
voice, that you never really had
Is quite the challenging and daunting task
to an introverted empath

i lost my virginity in a one star hotel in chinatown.
picture this, i was sixteen
he ransacked my body,
taking what wasn’t his
as i cried
get off me
please, god, get off me
he stained those ****** white one star hotel sheets
with my blood,
which wasn’t his to spill
he told me everything’s ok as i tried to push him off of me
i couldn’t sit right for a week after that
sometimes we pour sugar over our wounds because we think that
we need a sparkling trophy for all the pain we’ve gone through,
we want to make the darkest corners of our lives shine
but the ******* truth is
some things were never meant to be beautiful
i was *****
and no poem i will ever write can make that any less ugly
there are some rooms in this house that company shall never enter.
don’t think you are obliged to gild all your heartbreaks,
for in doing so, you are only fooling yourself.
so don’t read this and say it was a pretty poem.
it’s an ugly, ******* disgusting poem,
as it should be.

she tiptoes,
graceful steps, no sound when her feet touch the ground
-- like her feet are feathers and she’s the bird, tied down
she tiptoes
every movement of hers is subtle and subdued and almost slow
for no reason but to be quiet – ah, there it is
she did it wrong
she apologizes but—it’s never okay
there is a circle around her wrist,
it’s a bracelet of distrust, discolored and discernible
too much so maybe
and she tiptoes
arched up like she’s taking flight but then she never does
black markings on her arm like a collar; holding her back
holding her down or maybe just holding her
-- in place, unmoving and unchanging away from the torrent of time
or right in there, aging her fast and soon she’ll be unable
to fly
she tiptoes