These bruises and scars on my skin
help me remember,

"Yes,


I am still alive."

I have these little white lines

They're on my thighs

They tell the stories

Of the times I sat in my bathroom and cried

Of the times I felt truly alone

Of the times that I was told that I'm not loved

They bled

And they stung

But I still did it

Time and time again

Like it was nothing

I was told to stop

Or they would lock me up

So I stopped letting people find out

No one knew

I was so good at hiding it

Until one day

Someone hit my thigh and everyone found out

They were so upset

I stopped

And now all  I have are lines

To remind me

That at one point

I wanted to hurt myself

Truth is

That sometimes, I still want to

L is for the way I lose my breath
O is for the only one I am allowed to see
V is very very extra over protective
E is even more reclusive than I have ever been before

And love is all that I have given to you
Love is just a sadistic game to you
We are not in love, we fake it
You've taken my heart and done more than just break it
Cause this "love" was not made for me and you

Night.

In my mind, night symbolizes bad things
Dead as night,
Things go bump in the night,
Missing each other like ships in the night,
Thieves in the night,
“A one-night stand?”
Lady of the night,
“Oh my God! How can you sleep at night?”

It is universally known that monsters come out at night
They lurk in the closets of kids everywhere
But closet monsters with their reaching claws, twelve eyes, four arms,
And purple fur aren’t as scary as you.
In the dark corner of my room by the lamp that was my mom’s
When she was growing up
Did you put your hands on her, too?

I look up and
Coming towards me
a gangrene riddled zombie
Arms outstretched, a child whining for candy
Hot mouth on my skin, saliva in my face
Tongue like tentacles wrapping around me and
I fall into that dark, unfeeling place

Night is when bad things happen to good people
When too-young children lose their too-young innocence,
I try to explain to my mom the things you did
Why I’m chasing light
She says I’m lying because you’re her father
She knows you, and you wouldn’t do that to her
I tell her it was night-time she says,
“Maybe it was too dark to see who it was.”

“It wasn’t, mom!” I scream.
Hot pokers in the form of hot tears sear my red cheeks
When she turns away from me

It was dark, that night
But not so dark that I didn’t know you that night,
That night when you took me and crushed me
And I didn’t have a choice.

But it was you.

A gangrene zombie hiding in dark corners of my bedroom.

I drowned myself in a bottle of *****
so I could feel, or not to feel
There are eleven cigarette butts in the trash
so now my room reeks like smoke
It's still better than the smell of blood
Though my brother wasn't too happy
that I stole all his liquor,
he still thinks that the stains in my sheets
are better than the deep red ever was
Even if they're *****

bruises don’t often
appear on the surface.
strip away
her face,
her skull,
to reveal the battered,
rotting
brain of a girl
warped
into believing
abuse
is a normal aspect of life,
like pouring milk
into a bowl of cereal
for breakfast.

beads that hit like bullets
sudden and painful and take you by surprise
but the damage is only temporary
and then i collect them
and give them sentimental value
which i know is something i shouldn't
because ill only lose them anyway

the other people who have collected beads
are guns
they shoot them when they lose them
some days they want their beads back but
they're mine now
and because of that we don't get along
im the one who gave them value
so they're mine and they're never getting them back

i dont remember my first bead
where it came from or how i got it
but one day it appeared
but now it's long gone
i wouldn't worry if i were you
most people never keep their first bead
they go missing after a while

on rare occasion im not being careful
on rare occasion i decide i won't act with ease
im reckless and careless
until suddenly
i pull the trigger, not on purpose in the slightest
maybe i said some things, did some things
knew a little too much about things
but because i pulled the trigger
only a couple will stay, the rest will go missing
and ill never get them back

my beads are weapons that are used against me
they never asked to be shot at me
but once i attached that value to them
they were stuck with me forever
and despite people telling me "let them go"
"the chipped beads, the bad beads"
"you don't need them. they're toxic."
but i keep them because i believe it's worth it

but then because of those few beads i keep
i slowly notice the others disappearing
one by one they're all gone
and suddenly without warning
my barrell of beads is empty
except for the last
and now the beads i once cherished so much
are gone
and now in the barrell of another gun

i pulled the trigger again

i don't remember much about you
i grew to forget how your face looks
or what i was attractive to  
i don't remember much about anything about sixth grade
i try to not remember anything about sixth grade

but i remember
december being colder because of you
crying on christmas because of you
my mom driving me to my first therapy season because of you
the heartbreak i caused because of you
the friends i lost because of you  
the people i have hurt because of you
the hurt endured because of you
how everything hurts because of you

you don’t know the hurt
you never and will never know the hurt
you don’t even remember me
that is so unfair
you get to hurt and break and wreak me but
you get to forget me
forget how you touched me for the first time
forget how subtle you made it seem
forget how many times
forget how you took advantage of me

i wish i could forget that i loved you
i loved you
i once loved you
but how could that be  
                                                          how could you love the person
                                                          who took advantage of you?
                                                          how could you be so naive?
                                                          how could you be so stupid?

but i was twelve
how couldn’t i have been that stupid and nieve when i was twelve
i wasn’t even educated on what they were doing until i was a month shy of thirteen
therefore a twelve-year-old couldn’t have gone through that
therefore it is not real
therefore i lied

and so you continue
yet, i
i said stop
i said stop to you
i said i love you
but you should have of stopped.
you never stopped.
please stop.

then when you finally left
you did not take every piece of her
you left her hands
cold
freezing
winter
decemeber
hands
on my body
in my mind
and
i was left with the mess you made
the mess of everything you never and will never know about
and everything i am stuck remembering
the night my parents found me
you will never know why i was absent
you will never know the pain you've caused
the mess you have made
but i cleaned it up
by myself
because the people who could have stopped it
decided it was not real
it was not real
it
was
not
real
i wish you were not real

i am angry about what you did
and how you don’t even remember sixth grade
and how i am stuck with the aftermath
days, months, years, after
i don’t remember who i once fell in love with
or what i was attractive to
but i remember your touch
and the anger
the sadness,
the long-winded depression,
the loneliness,
the feeling of being useless
and unworthy
and the attempts,
and the pills,
and the scars,
and everything
but mostly, i wish i could remember you like the way you don’t remember the hurt, the break, and the wreckage you caused me.


                                                - to you, in hopes you one day understand the pain i felt and the ghost that will never leave because of the sadness you have caused me