Dear Ceremonial Suit of Armor that shines too bright to be real,

I could tell you I love you. I could tell you I didn't. Both would be lies. I do not love you. That does not mean I never did. There was a point in time, before February, where I did. When I got bad in January, the process of falling out of love had already begun, because I could not remain loving someone who treated me as less than trash behind closed doors. I had only ever offered my body up to you as a preventative measure, trying to convince myself otherwise. I had fooled myself, and maybe you. I hate myself for it.

And your cruelty has left me wounded in a new way, but rest assured I will heal. I understand that you were already falling for someone else when you broke up with me on my best friends porch. Please understand that I am not an idiot. Please understand that I know the game fairly well that you play. Please understand you are no better than me when it comes to mental health, and no better than your ex's before me when it comes to games.

I am scared to flinch. I am scared to take the steps to trust people. I am scared to reach out, to be honest entirely and wholly. I am scared of the words "I love you" as they fall from my mouth, because what if they are met with the same cruel glare and ice cold, empty touch. There are words, phrases, noises, even songs that set me off. Not like the one before you. No, they set me off in a way that makes me see all the parts of me I am a vividly aware are not perfect. It takes a lot of breathing and a lot of focus to calm me back down and bring me back (on my own, by the way) to Earth where I can see that I am not horrible. That those were volatile lies spread by you and your temper.

I know you spreading lies about my mental health. I have been told by many sources, I have much proof. I know you are spreading lies about how I spoke about others. I hope they know you are not much better than the toxicity you spread with your sharpened tongue.

I am bitter. I expected so much better from you, and instead I was left with regret. But your nature and being that has left me limping has also changed me for the better.

I see that I am good. I see that I am strong, and I will be okay.

I do not know about you, anymore.

Sincerely,
Glass Shattered

Dear My Never,

It can be summed up easily, I never loved you. Every part of us, of you torturing me and my pretending it was all okay and I was just so in love and everything is alright because teenage heartache is beautiful--

It was *******. I hated you. Every second. And then it became some sick type of Stockholm Syndrome, where I felt connected to the peer pressure and the safety of knowing if I was still "under your spell" I could still be allowed to breathe.

Five years. Technically 4.6 years. But still, math aside, I hate you. Five years I wasted my life because peer pressure and societal norms convinced me what you did was normal.

But the indifference I feel towards you rings stronger than anything else I've ever felt. There's just nothing, and sometimes fear of the actions. Strange, but true.

Signed,
Glass half empty.

I can count the number of times my body has been violated on both hands,

But I need both hands to do so, though and while that might sound horrible,
I've grown to know that saying "no" does not mean "stop" to someone who insists on trying,
what I've learned is that my body was never mine to begin with,

I grew sick with a task of delivering pleasure to someone else at the cost of myself and what I learned is that
waving that white flag cuts you open and
causes you to bleed on your white sheets
you already bleached stains out of twice that same week,

My body was never mine to begin with,

but I'm taking it back.

I'm stealing my body back from the fear that stole it every night I agreed to have *** to avoid getting hit.

I'm stealing my body back from every night I said no and you still did it.

I'm stealing my body back from the paralyzing thought of what people would think about how I got into that situation instead of why you did that to me in the first place.

I'm stealing my body back from the haunting, cemented, cold look on your face when you said "I do what I want"
I shrunk into my skin,
I swore I would never feel safe in my own bones again.

I'm taking my body back because it is mine.
I'm taking it from every person who stole it from me,
even if temporarily,
at ages 6, 9, 10, 14, 16, 18 and 19.

I'm taking it back for me this time.
It is not your temple or release.
It is not your garden or your sanctuary.
My body is mine to keep.

i can no longer distinguish pain from pleasure;
abuse from affection; contusions from caresses.
embraces could be delivered in tightly-clenched fists;
words of affirmation in abasement; trust in forced hands.
i can't tell the difference between love and hurt;
dark bruises and soft kisses; belittlement and support.

all i am familiar with now is the aftermath -
the tears, the marks, the aches;
hot showers soothing stinging skin, shaky knees and trembling hands;
the nauseating guilt; encapsulating, overwhelming fear

and the sickening inability to just walk away.

Eulogize ripped tears
Hazardous sight, from eyes of night
Fallen creatures they shun the light.
Catastrophic wailing
Cacophonous they weep
Pounding fists upon my eyes
Curtailing chance of sleep
Piercing me with sorrows
Flailing by the moon
They grow upon hate
It won't abate
It will not leave me soon

It would have me trembling
In agony of distress
But I won't let it bully me...

I WILL GET MY REST!!!


SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
(C) 6/21/2016

The straw to bring a horrid fate
The last straw to be drawn
I always get the short one
It seems all hope is gone

The straw that broke the camel's back
The burdens are so great
It seems my weary struggling
Has no way to abate

Like a drowning woman
I grasp at straws that float
It seems that there's no liferaft
Let alone a boat

But as I reach for the flimsy reed
Of Faith on which to stand
Just as I'm about to sink
I'm holding a strong hand

The straw I thought so weak & frail
As it first appeared
Was the Hand of Jesus Christ

My Savior & my LORD


SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/21/2016

Dead inside.
The eyes have gone dull.
The touch has gone cold.
The water of the sea streams down the face.
The wailing grows louder, yet no one hears.

Dead inside.
The flame has gone out.
The light has been vanquished.
The music within the soul is now silent.
The joyful dance of the smile is still.

Dead inside.
Only the shadow keeps company.
It presses down.
Have not the strength to lift it anymore.
Muscles fail from weakness.

Dead inside.