The Polite Victim
When I tell someone I’m a **** survivor
They wanna know how long ago it happened
Like the trauma or the pain is like some kind of sidewalk paint on the outside of our bodies
that after time gets washed away by our own tears
Or maybe the rain
When I respond that I was five
They say “ no, I mean, you know, the last time”
Even though they don't really need to know that's the only trauma right now I'm willing to let go
because these days it's all about how much skin you show
I step below my thirst for the end of ignorance
Satisfy their interests
And choose to be the polite victim
But then they expect me to be willing to try and understand him when I’d rather cut off
Every
limb
Like they expect me to be fine because I've had “all this time” to “get over it”
But just like physical wounds, wounds like these never heal completely
There’s always a scar left behind to reveal
And if you peel back my metaphorical layers
You’ll see that scar  
I understand that
To
most people out there that's all we are
is a body
But I am not a body, I have a body
A body that's meant to protect my soul, a body that he almost stole...from me
But you cannot have a body and be a body at the same time
what a random thought
Have you ever noticed how every slam poet says ‘body’ the same way
Because deep down we all feel the same way
about it
We spit it out like it's some kind of disgusting
Like it betrays us, like the word itself betrays us
But really it doesn't
Not any more than a car does when it slides on black ice
It’s not the car’s fault, it’s the environment its exposed to
And possibly our fault too for not recognizing it’s limits
But I, for once, will not give it that power,
I am done converting my hatred for my body
Into hatred for myself

if
          she let go oooooooo

the grand canyon
                                   would overflow


so she painstakingly
         bloodredbrickbybloodredbrick
                                            
        
built

        an impenetrable fortress
        to guard what once was
                        
                                           an open
                                           freely loving heart

parapets and towers abounded
        
        higher ground
        first sight
                              
                                          smoke billowed
                                          in warning

                                          gates barred
                                          archers flaming lethal weapons
                                          poised and ready

                                          catapults silently loaded
                                          and aimed


intuition hyper vigilant

                                         as she isolates herself

                                         prepared to ward off

any

                                        perceived enemies
                                        whose intent
                                        evidenced by ropes and picks

is to

                                       stealth fully cross the moat
                                       scale the tower

                                       and unloose the chaos she so vigilantly protects










[wonder


victorious
       or
   victim?]

I stalk success with greed
I think i'm high on ****.
An apparent aggression.
No room for depression.

No time to rest.
To success, i,m a pest..
i follow her everywhere..
I'm not a victim of fear.

Success is so proud;
a fact without a doubt.
still i pursue with pride.
my emotions, i cannot hide.

strength apparently spent.
still, i'll never relent.
i will chase your vagour..
adrenaline absolutely pours.

i'm a man with purpose;
a victim of an overdose.
i'm drowned in optimism..
i slay every subjective criticism.

Please,
Turn off the music.
It is pathetic,
Stupid,
Useless,
Overly-sensitive,
Victim music.

I don't know how I feel towards you anymore. I almost feel like I can hate you like you hate me, but something scratches at me, a million people tearing at my insides.
The naive highschooler, the little "man", the lustful *******, the vengeful ******* in me now, and the one that wishes you could just be okay.

I can't ******* figure out which one is me, was me. What I want for you, from you, or why it even matters..

I want to be sorry, I am sorry, but the vengeful ******* still screams ****** ****** in my head.
"It was all *******, she wants to believe she's any better when she used you. She wants to judge and not be judged. Blame you for everything she hates in herself."

I try to drown him out with noise, music, love.
But I can't stop the nagging that you were selfish, and even more so, you were entitled.
You've always been everything you hate in me, and now more.
A victim that always denies herself love.

She said "I can practically taste the malice that fills your heart and the hatred in your soul. You would like nothing more than to see this world burn wouldn't you? I can see it in your eyes, that's the real you." She just might be right. The darkness within hums like a gentle rhythm I was but a victim of my humanity, those are memories I don't treasure but it's a measure of how far I've come. I'll take you by storm.... An uncontrollable maelstrom. No friend, no foes and anything goes in this game of mine, regardless of the time, my comeback remains certain.

If they don’t believe you
they don’t deserve to
be apart of your story.

You shouldn’t have to explain
yourself.