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Rane Oct 5
She knew she shouldn’t read it, but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t handle coming home to a surprise or receiving a phone call during class. She waited until her sister had left the house. The younger girl didn’t want to be there with her older sister. It hurt the older girl, more than she realized, but she knew the younger one was going through a lot and tried to understand. It was hard.

She closed the bedroom door, sealing herself inside. She easily found the journal the younger one wrote in. She hadn’t bothered hiding it. It was just a regular looking journal, wide-ruled and only one subject. She picked it up and sat down on the bed. She opened it tenderly, scared of what she might find inside. Slowly, the girl read through the few pages that had been written on. She wasn’t surprised; she’d read similar entries from the girls' last journal. The older girl was utterly heartbroken. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over as she read the words that had been scratched onto the page before her.

“I feel like I’ve been alive too long, and I’m only 15 years almost 16 years old.”

“Why do I feel like drugs will help me? Drugs drugs drugs drugs.”

“I don’t want anyone to think it’s their fault. I’m sorry mom for being too much to handle. I’m sorry dad for causing you so much stress.”

The girl set the journal aside, brought her knees to her chest and hugged them. She sat there, attempting to hold her tears at bay. Breathing in then out, out then in. In then out, out then in. The atmosphere outside the room felt wrong. Everyone was having a good time. She could hear the laughter and the playful back-and-forth bickering. It was jarring, the atmospheric difference between the two rooms under the same roof. It was wrong. How was no one concerned about the younger girl? How could no one see her blatant pain? The pain that is etched on the girl’s face, in the girl’s actions and right there in writing. She didn’t know what she could do. The thought of the younger one doing something harmful to herself made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t talk to the younger girl, she refused to look in her direction.

She figured she’d do what she does best in an attempt to feel a little less helpless. Lethargically, she pulled herself together and shuffled to the other side of the room to pick up her pencil and paper. She wrote and wrote and wrote. She tried to make the younger girl feel better. She was vulnerable. She flooded the page with encouragement. Once she was finished she ripped the page from the notebook, folded it many times over and scrawled the young girls' name on it. Tiptoeing to the other side of the room, the girl gently lifted the pillow on the younger girls’ bed, placed the note, and returned the pillow to its original spot. Everything looked as if it was normal. The girl stood there a minute listening still to the onslaught of amusement and joy that currently filled the bodies of everyone in the house, except her own.    

She pulled back the covers and crawled into her bed, very aware of the emptiness of the other bed beside her. The girl hoped against all odds that the emptiness wouldn’t become permanent.

this could potentially be triggering to some people and if it is i apologize.
Farout Sep 26
Poisonous resentment,
Dripping down my esophagus.
Like the salvia you coaxed down my throat,
Icy cold and bitter.

Purple chrysanthemums blooming,
On my pale, once innocent flesh.
Eyes fogged by deception,
I am unable to escape you.

The seed of regret plants itself in my heart,
Roots of the weeds rip through me,
Polluting the heart, tainting the blood.
Paralysed, you force me down and tear me apart.

Fog clears my vision
just like drug laced honey you fed me
I see your true form in the window of my future
Pathetic old man, I’m not afraid of you.

Your claws saturated with manipulation
Grasp and tear at my flesh
But you can’t trap me here any more
I’m not your hostage
This is a poem about my experience being about being groomed. I’m not the best at poetry, I just use it to vent.
Lyda M Sourne Sep 25
I don't deserve what I have

1. I don't deserve to be alive
    So can I trade my life for
    Someone more valuable than me

2. I don't deserve to be loved
    So please give your heart to
    Someone who can love you more

3. I don't deserve happiness
    So direct your smile to
    Someone who will smile back at you

4. I don't deserve me
    So to myself
    Find someone else to be
I know what's coming,
I want to run away.
Maybe a deeper disire,
Always makes me stay.

He slips in behind me
Cuddles and watches TV.
Then he touches me and moves me,
And never once with a plea.

His rythm begins,
One leg bracing me in.
Leaving his hand down my pants
Grabbing at my skin.

With fury and anger
His force comes to an abrupt hault.
Unsatisfied and unloved,
I'm left shaking, in fault.

A few days later,
We're in the same routine.
Cuddles and watching TV,
But this time, I turn away from the screen.

One leg bracing me in,
His hand still down my pants.
Grabbing at my skin,
I'm hoping for a trance.

With fury and anger,
His force comes to an abrupt hault.
Unsatisfied and unloved,
I'm left shaken, in fault.
(c) Allison Wonder
I vote we change Content Warning
To Contact Warning.
Please keep your words off my emotions
And your knives out of my heart.
Ashley Aug 30
The high pitch rumble of his voice still sends chills down my spine.
I remember his scent, like it was ingrained into my soul,
Copenhagen long cut and bud light.
He called me his “good little girl”,
Before he stole my innocence forever.
The sick salty flavor of his flesh,
The warmth of my own ***** dripping down my five year old chin,
And the harsh sting searing across my temple from his fist,
Three shames I will never forget.
Three shames I must forgive myself for.
Deisphorios Aug 19
its been a while
i dont want to admit
that i might still be suicidal,
if only a little bit.

its nothing,
i promise,
we can laugh it away
pretend its nothing chronic

i know you dont understand
and i dont want to explain
why i cant imagine what it feels like to wake up in the morning
and be happy that the sun is rising


the scars are still there
so disgustingly visible
but you'll never get to see them
'cause you think theyre only fictional.

you dont understand,

and thats okay.

but maybe ill try to tell you, another day

maybe ill decide to write you a letter;

and see if, by then, you understand it any better.
im sorry
Lyra Saros Aug 13
I’ve always been erratic
There’s still an ember in these ashes
The forest has cooled since the fire
The birds are coming home tonight
They make their nests from kindling

Is it still a relapse if I never quit?
tw self harm
family friends since we were small
tracing grout in linoleum floors
I watched your dad pull those tapes out
he drew his weapon you drew yores
I can't be mad I say to this day
generations cursed
my first boyfriend shook his head
"I thought I was your first?"
there was a lump in my throat
and I thought back to that game
little frog ran over by the cars
you taught me how to skip through lanes
first friend that I ever had
I still think that you knew better
simply "child's innocence"
crayon written apology letter
floral pattern sheets
I was a flower at full bloom
until you flung me on that bed
I wilted in that room
you told me sometimes that it hurts
but it'll be super quick
that I cannot say anything
people will think I'm sick
It all goes black soon after that
red stain, metal taste, a puncture
Did the right thing after the fact
though frozen like a sculpture
you went on and on again
and never really paid
those girls carried it with them
through 1st and 2nd grade
and now I am a grown up
with something in me hollow
a little froggy in my throat that I still cant seem to swallow
I told myself I'd get better
through hell or through high water
but then felt you pluck more petals
when I heard you had a daughter
Hope White Mar 22
You were just a boy,
Only a few years
younger than me.
I, too, was only a girl,
but one who wanted to be
a woman much too quickly.

Except we didn’t meet,
Because you found me
surrounded by sleep.
You had no need to shake my hand
Or learn my name. Just a body,
in the shape of your needs.

When I was a child,
younger of a child
Than when you came
Across me, I thought
Satan haunted me
and kept me from sleep.

That night, where you had
told others we'd met,
I thought Satan himself
had found me again.
Drunk on youth and whisky,
asleep in a stranger's bed,  

I realized that Satan's
only a child's fever dreams,
or, sometimes instead,

a teenage boy,

clinking his belt,

invading my sleep.
Trigger warning: ****** assault
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