Limbs cut through crisp air
I am falling, back first, into the abyss
Arms flail to find ground
But only air exists here
It blows through my heart and
Out through my chest
My spinning heart a weather vane
At the mercy of gravity and earth
Convulsions flare uncontrollably
Panic awakening panic
The danger paints everything in shadows
So even the sun haunts this place
I don't want to feel this
I don't want to lose control
But in falling, that decision isn't mine
I can only accept this state
Trying to control the uncontrollable
Will only cause more harm
I need to love myself enough
To love myself when I'm not ok

How do you measure the once-was?  The invisible?  The void?  

                                 The ache in my heart is not physiological,
                                   although it may feel like it sometimes is.  

I can measure the words I write,
                       the words that get stuck in my throat.  
The boxes of belongings left over.  (You can narrow down a person’s
                                                               physical life by how many trips it
                                                                ­                          takes to Goodwill.)
How many songs can I now not stand?  
How many scents are now trigger trapdoors?  

Shall I count the number of times I’ve thought of you today?  
No ******* thank you.  
                                          Measuring is for the birds.  
                                                        ­                                    The doctors and
                                                                ­                                the scientists.  

I keep reaching inside and pulling out my still beating,
                                          but rotting and decaying heart
                                        only to be told it’s perfectly fine.  
I refuse to be gaslit on my grief anymore.

i hold a shaky palmful of death
noting that it is surprisingly light

i swallow reflexively
feeling shocks through my hand

i could just do it
i could just do it right now and it would all be over

why don't i do it

my body, fighting to survive
my brain, begging to die
and i am no man's land

I shouldn’t be a mom

There’s no reason i should allow myself to bring children into this world
Children with the same problems that I have
How selfish of me to think and assume I deserve or am worthy of allowing myself to bring someone into this world with my issues?
The anxiety, the depression, the self deprecating thoughts

I wouldn’t be a good mom

How could I look into the eyes of my sons or daughters and know I brought them into this world to feel such immense pain?
What would give me the right to bring children into this hell full of negativity, poverty and intense drama?

I couldn’t be a good mom

How insanely asinine of me to think I should be projecting my problems into my spawn?
What part of my last twenty seven years of life would prompt me to believe I should feel the happiness and pride the mothers and fathers around me feel?


But what if all my honest, true, real self realization would make me the best mom ever?

It is funny how things,
such as this,
are brought up
at the worst
possible moment.
I find it funny
yet it is nothing
to laugh about.

The way I hurt myself
more
when I am already hurting.
The way I always feel like
I need to settle the score.

I have loved everyone
who has ever hurt me.
You know how they say
it is always someone
you know.

Perhaps I never felt
anything about it
because I brought it on
myself.
I have self-inflicted wounds
from every man
I’ve slept beside.

Not you, my purest
love;
you are who I dreamed
about
as I was drowning in the mud
of my own mistakes.

Maybe I never talked about it
because mean mommy
liked him
and it would’ve been
an embarrassment
for everyone to see it
just the same as me.

And maybe I never
thought about it
out of fear
that it might
actually hurt me-
but that was always the point.

There was never a reason.

I saw his name
And everything around me changed

Blurred vision
Healed wounds becoming a fresh incision

I can’t breathe
But I couldn’t leave

Survival instincts
Thoughts of wishing I was extinct

Racing thoughts
I cannot connect the dots

Your name
Is my downfall rain

The kind I dread
Sometimes I can’t get out of bed

You see the outside and think I’m acting stupid
But let me sit you down and tell you what he did

Maybe but it depends
Maybe you’ll understand then.

Dear David,
First of all, I would like to start this letter with a big *******!
How dare you come into my home and take advantage of me.
How dare you get into my bed and touch me.
How dare you!?!
Oh, you were drunk?
No worries, that totally makes it okay.
I was probably dreaming like the time my best friends brother decided to hop into my bed when I was 11.

I hate you!
I hate how I can’t be mad at Terry for wanting to have a relationship with you because you’re his brother.
I hate how I can’t speak up about what you did because it most certainly will ruin your life.

But I want you to know, you will never be apart of my life again.
You will not be apart of mine and Terry’s life,
And best believe you will not be an uncle to our little girl.

I know all you did was touch my skin and kiss my lips,
But what if I wasn’t strong enough to push you off me, to tell you no?

I hate what you did.
I hate that I can never be beautiful again,
You took that piece with you.
You greedy, ******, *****!
How many other girls have you done this to?
Are still doing this to?
And aren’t able to tell you no…

I just hate how I can’t move on…
How can you?

The biggest struggle is when I'm all alone,
Loneliness is the biggest trigger,
When you spend so much time alone,
You become comfortable being by yourself,
But it become difficult to cope with.

The days are hard but the nights are unbearable,
Having someone to be by your side,
Makes everything much easier to cope with,
It won't fix anything but it'll make it easier,
I put too much on myself sometimes,
But that's just who I am can't help it.

Don't allow anyone to help me,
I help myself that's just the way I am,
We can't be anyone but ourselves,
Sometimes being ourselves can be hard,
Especially when we're so use to certain things.

Loneliness can be difficult at times,
But it's the best outlet sometimes,
You never know who you can trust,
One's actions aren't always as they appear to be,
Many have motives not always so true,
Be careful who you put your trust in.

Trust is as fatal as those we put our trust in,
I learned that at a young age,
Being let go over and over,
Being lied to over and over,
It can do damage more than you know.