I don't know who I am anymore.
I don't know who anyone is.
Everyone here is victim to routine, and I hate it.
Everyone here is a victim to themselves.
My throat burns.
I feel like I've let them down; I feel like they let me down.
I am lost. Give me a sign.

when I was 14 I was force fed contraception and never got a taste of an apology
when I was 14 the phrase "I'm not ready" wasn't a clear enough interpretation of "no"
so instead of presenting my case in front of a judge, I presented my virginity in front of a 17 year old boy.
when I was 14 I didn't know I was being ***** until a week and a half later when it happened again.
and even through my broken sobs and nightmares, my own father didn't believe me for over a year.
when I was 15, I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder because the distinction between love and tear stained pillow cases was nearly non existent.
when I was 15, I made the decision to drown the flashbacks in a sea of painkillers, and in what followed I met thirteen other beautiful girls who shared the same story I did.
when I was 16 I realized something had to be done.

for two years I hid a badge labeled '**** victim' under long sleeves and red eyes because I was too ashamed of what I let happened to myself to get help.
I was told I made a false accusation, when in reality the only fallacy is in our justice system.

**** is not always a white t shirt with specks of blood in the back of an alley or a drunk uncle with a wandering eye. **** is not always screaming at the top of your lungs and fighting for your life with a knife to the neck. it is not always textbook, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be taken seriously.

Won’t you lie here with me? Can’t we just let the world slip away?
Or would it hurt you too much to let anyone near your heart? Even if that someone is me?
Won’t you say anything at all? Even if it’s not what I want to hear? I’d rather have harsh truths than kind lies.
And I know you will not lie. You will not be kind.
Your face is stoic, it makes me want to cry.
Do you not feel anything? Does anything break through the surface of your skepticism? Though I try and try to see past your unrelenting negativity you continue to surprise me with your coldness. How do you stay so cold?
The silence you project is screaming, pounding in my ears and everything in me burns for the affection you refuse to give.
Why do you pretend I’m not even here? I want a way out, but being alone terrifies me more than you do. Terrifies me more than the silence and the cold. Maybe after a while, the coldness won’t hurt.

I can wait.

You took my innocence
And stole my childhood
I will not forgive
I won't ever forget

I will, however
Move on

I am not a victim
I am a survivor
What you did out of weakness
Has made me stronger

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

It still stings when i think of your hand slamming against my cheek
The first time you laid a finger upon me
I was only young at the time, too naive to understand
Little did i know, it wouldn't be the last time you harmed me.
You see the alcohol and the drugs
Were only temporary distractions
Long enough to keep me numb so i couldn't
Feel anything for a little while.

But sadly,
The more liquor i chugged back and the more
Smoke i inhaled into my lungs,
Praying that maybe this next hit would affect me,
That no matter what pills i took or what drugs i smoked
I could never get rid of the feeling of your piercing glare from that night
As you undressed me with your eyes like i was some kind of meat
While you sat waiting for your next meal which laid between my legs

It still burns when I think of your hand wrapped tightly around my neck
As i prayed you would finally end it all for me
That maybe if i ****** you off enough now that you would go ahead and do it
That maybe you would be framed for what you have always been doing
See you killed me long ago
Buried me 6 ft in the ground with any shred of dignity i still possessed
When you found me at 15 alone and afraid you pried upon that
Became my protector until i later realised it was you i should be fearing.

The victim mentality.
Whether it be based on your natural ways,
Or through pressure.
Evict yourself from it.

Whether its based on immaturity,
Or whose root cause is deep insecurity.
Push through it.
Achieve success.
Make amends.

Never offer forgiveness where its not warranted.
But be weary.
If you burn bridges,
The foundation might be intact,
But you would have to rebuild.

Can you handle it?

When I used to fall in love with rocks I
admired their smooth and jagged cuts.
The way they stuck up from their earthly ruts
or how they rolled evenly inside of caky sand.
Rocks were really my only love life plans.

Yet always still a rock.
And always from the earth, the rock will
form from violence into chalk.
When I used to fervor rocks

I would notice with great care
the way they curved and bent, allowing me to stare.
Indeed, I feel deeply in despair for my romantic love affair
with the always quiet rock
who would always fill me with hours of endless empty talk.

And after some years of this chatter and also through
witnessing the secret
violence of a smooth and steady stone
against soft and brittle human bones
I agreed that I would no longer fall in love with any type of rock.

The conclusion is now that
I no longer fall in love with any type of rock: a stone.