the quick decision
that leaves lives filled with grief.

the quick ending
of a life that should have lasted longer.

suicide is not an option
but to those of us
it's the only answer.

i started this poem
when i was
nearly 23
i'm 24 now
almost 25
but i still feel
like a child.

19
trying drugs,
loving the man
who would **** me.
and i'd forgive him
take him back into my arms
let him touch me anywhere
just to feel something.
afterward
he smokes
and smokes
and smokes
apologizing
through a haze
of drugs and
shame. he spoke
useless fragile
words and i drank
them up eagerly.
they tasted like
whiskey,
valerian,
and ice.

when i'm 20
i find a therapist.
no more drugs;
still loving him.
i slide a new slate
across the kitchen
table just for him.
but it's cracking
as his fingers
pick it up,
shattering in
place. he moves
from stone
to skin. rips
and tears
until i'm
finally
split
too.

21
still in therapy,
i tell him
it's okay
that he
cheated
because
it was
all
about
the drugs:
not me.
but when i
tell him how
much it hurts
he says
maybe you
should work on that
in therapy.
i lean into
his side
but being
near him
never quite
feels the
same and
i ache for
comforting
sin.

i'm 22 when i find out
that being pressured
into *** after
saying no twice
isn't consensual
and he's not
round anymore
but at night
i hold my breath
terrified that he'll
appear. in my
dreams there
are flash
backs lying
in wait, even
though i've
begged for
some dream
less sleep.

when i'm 23
my third or fourth
therapist
tells me
she's sorry that
i had to go through
it all. and she listens
as i fade away and keeps
listening until i
can feel the earth
at my feet
once more.
she's a good
sort. i'm sad
when she
moves.

24 creeps
upon me
like a scratchy
sweater. i want to
shrug it off of my
shoulders, but it's
too cold. i'm no
longer the things
that happened
to me in that
darkening room,
and at twilight
most nights
i no longer find
myself thinking of
him.

i feel so old.
my bones always
hurt, the cat's food
is so expensive, and
i always have chicken
in the freezer. but
i can't bring myself
to eat. the medications
keep the ache at bay
but i feel it waiting.
at least my cat always
purrs when i feed him.
makes me feel
a little
loved.

my chance to grow
got pushed back a
few years
and i probably grew
anyways, unknowingly
pushing back against
invisible walls waiting
for one to finally give.

i hate that i'm here
trapped in adolescence
i hate that i'm still
writing about him
about what happened
and how much it still
hurts me.

maybe when i'm 25
i'll try to edit
this poem.

There can be no absolution
for the things I’ve done

yet you do not talk of revenge or retribution

you forgive, too easily
(or maybe I believe, too easily)

lulled into a false sense of security

maybe I will pay one day
offer a vial of my blood to a faceless God

break my bones down
until they are a pile of dust

dust that you can scatter, like ashes
pretending I was good once, kind, considerate

a girl a million miles away for the one
wielding the knife over your best friend’s heart

yes, there were mitigating circumstances
but very few victims actually **** their ******

I mean, that’s wrong. They all should, really,
and get away with it.

because people like that have given up
their right to live

**** is ****** in a way,
except you wake up…

to **** these animals is self defence,
reclaiming, asserting yourself that
you will NOT be a ******* victim

that there can be only one survivor in this
and that’s you

i wait for you on my crumbling precipice
and no, roaring waves heed not my call below
slow, i retrace my steps away from the  edge
but oh the ledge, its comfort calls
i wait for you, my dear, my love
to part the crowded sea, to relieve me
of the gray flag i hold that i wish to relinquish
this is not what i want, but who i am might be incongruent
with the life i imagined, golden sun and rain abhorrent

I've been taken advantage of.
I've been lied to a thousand times.
My mind is awfully broken now,
Adn my body is riddled with lines.

I can't believe you did this to me
After you said you loved me.
In the end, it was just a trap,
And the ransom was my sanity.

I made myself pretty for you,
Dolled up with bows and paint.
It was never good enough though.
You stole more of me every day.

I tore myself apart because
I couldn't be enough.
Even then you yelled at me
"Get over it.. Life is tough"

You never believed me when I said
A thing you didn't like.
I told you I hated you in my life
Always feeding me molten lies.

Even then, you pushed me away
And tore me limb from limb.
Everything I did to myself
Was caused by you, mum, not him.

A raccoon, gray tail still intact, head askew across the highway
Left to decompose on the county road, under spring’s thawing sun.
A sadness swells my throat, a differing of points of view
Where wild used to be, the raccoon mistakes concrete for dirt
Headlights for predator eyes, glowing in the complete night
Crushed undertire, underfoot, underpaw—
Sweep his carcass off that once-grass gravel
The fields of wildflowers and sideoats grama
Given way to industrialism, to a streak of urbanization
So far out in the sticks that even the animals do not know
Where the country ends and the city now begins.

sometimes you wake up
without really waking up.
you cling to your blanket like
it's the only resort  in your black-tarred heart.

sometimes the bathdoor seems so far away that
you need three hours to move one foot forward
just to stop midway and feeling overwhelmed by
how the floor presses against your naked feet.

sometimes all you could manage was breathing
and maybe making some green tea in the kitchen
and that's actually all there is, a mundane accomplishment
considered normal by healthy-minded folks.

sometimes you feel nothingness gnawing and chewing
your inner self, since there is actually nothing left than
a few bits and pieces of your former, cherish self.
and you actually cry, for there is nothing to hold on to.

sometimes it feels like not living could be the only way out but
actually,
quite frankly
you will always find a way out of feeling insignificant.
because i did. as mundane as it might sound.

so you can too
find a way out.

© fey (24/03/21)

He treats me like a Queen,
Still I can’t help but wonder if he will be like you too
Funny how I am afraid of what he might become yet the most comforting place I’ve ever been is his arms.
I look to him for protection yet I fear him and what he might do,
He’s never given me a reason to doubt him but most of the men from my past life haunt my thoughts, spreading lies like wildfire
I run to him, almost as if being attracted by a magnet, it’s out of my control
I cringe whenever he takes his belt off,
I know he would never hit me yet the memory of leather striking my skin like a whip,
My mother’s hands pounding on the door and her dread-filled screams,
lingers in the back of my mind like a nightmare I cannot escape from
Now that I am older it’s easier to understand she knew what he was capable of,
She had been in my position before,
She never told me as a child because I had this glorified image of him,
He was the first man that seemed like he wanted to take care of us and love us,
I viewed him as a father and even called him Dad
He had just loved his alcohol and cigars more than his love for us
I sometimes start to think about what our future children will look like,
But I stop in my tracks because that evil voice in my head asks “what if he turns out like him”?
Will it always be like this, I fear