It gets worse
At night.
When all the lights are off,
When I'm completely
Alone.
The feeling
Can be overwhelming.
This heavy, black
Misery.
This pulsating, pointless
Anger.
I'm driven to tears
By my frustration at
And fear of
Things that are far, far
Beyond my control.
When I am in this feeling,
It is real.
It is so,
Scarily real.
But the next morning,
It's gone.
Some sadness may linger,
But that blackness
Is gone.
It's like
It was never real.
And I don't know how to fight this,
When almost all of the time,
It isn't real to me.
So I make it real.
I make sure
That this feeling
Is remembered.
I write about it,
I mark it into my skin,
Letting the faint scars remain,
So I can look at them
And remember that
The black feeling is real.
That forgetting about it
Won't make it go away.
It'll just render me blissfully ignorant
Until the feeling comes back,
And there I am again,
Exactly where I was last time,
Feeling like this is the first time I've ever
Broken down in this way.
Then I feel like a child
Without any experience,
Any means
Of dealing with this.
I mark myself
So I don't forget
That what I feel
IS REAL.

I scrub and I scrub
The stains won't go
They stain the sink

The water washes it away
It spirals down the drain
The stain still stays

My hands are raw
But I see no point in bleeding
It still stains the sink

Eyes open the soul to inspection.
Sometimes when eyes meet the soul is filled with wonder and delight,
others an extreme desire to run and to fight,
an infestation that entangles and ensnares,
a **** that gathers there.

I have been burned by prying eyes,
their color, shape, and design
embedded into my memory for the remainder of my life.

In my mind, everything around those eyes have faded into obscurity over time.

The image at first is clear, but the edges fade rapidly,
Until all i see are the eyes filled with intensity.
A silent command, “Keep quiet.”

How could I have been so naive to have listened?
I remember being questioned when I kept my distance,
I said I didn't feel well,
An unheard cry for help.

I contemplated telling the truth,
But every time I thought to give proof,
I felt the eyes on me.
I was as if they could see everything within my head.

The eyes, they knew my intentions,
And their stormy presence gave way to hesitations,
It was not a total lie…
I wasn’t feeling well.

The cause of this unwell was what should be
Foreign to the lives of little children, like me.
This dark thing was not a thought to be entertained.
How is it that one morning you wake up,
Eyes masked by rose colored glasses,
And the next they’ve turned to jade?

Were my innocent eyes what made him want to pursue?
Open, inviting, gaps in the wall that hid my spirit?
Maybe that is why I was the target,
Windows wide enough for a thief to climb through.


I have very little memory of that time.
All that I can recall are those eyes,
Gleaming, and beady in the night,
Reflecting nothing but glimmer of the hallway light.

I remember how they looked when they looked back at me,
And forever those eyes will be trapped inside my memory.

What haunts me more than those grey and lifeless eyes,
Is how for all the times I saw those eyes,
They never seemed to see the tears in mine.

like I was there in your bed
I had agreed to be there
you asked if you could do one thing
I said yes
you did, and then started on another
you didn't ask
I didn't say no
It wasn't far from what I had initially agreed upon
but you didn't ask
I didn't feel like I could say no