#trigger-warning
self-harm
isn't always cutting
sometimes
it's ignoring your hunger
postponing your sleep
and picking at your face
every ******* time
it's listening to music
in maximum volume
pushing away your friends
and not turning on
the water heater when it's cold
but turning it on when it's hot
it is when you don't say anything
even though you're already dying
just so the people around you can live
without all the noise
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 6:33 AM UTC
I am not a child,
I am not your child.
In fact, I am all grown up.
I am all grown up,
but I cannot forget my childhood
because of you.
I kiss girls,
not boys,
because I am afraid that they will hurt me,
(like the monster you are) like you did.
I cover up,
extra clothes,
because I rarely wore clothes as a child
and you would peer at me through
the crack in the bathroom wall.
I don't sing with the birds.
I don't hug my teddy bear.
I don't leave the house.
I am terrified you are out there,
hunting for me like I am your prey.
But I am not a child,
I am all grown up,
and I can beat you up.
I am not a child,
and I will not call you "My Daddy"
and I will not let you call me "Baby".
I am not a child,
and I will not let you touch me.
I am gold, I am radiant, I am light.
And you will not ruin that,
ever, ever, ever again.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I told you I sleep with my stuffed animals (mostly to keep me company).
I am a child in your eyes,
ever since you saw me bare-faced & naked (I don't like clothes).
I am a child in your eyes,
ever since you touched me in places even God Almighty wouldn't dare to look at.
I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I sang with the birds and played in the mud, losing my voice and getting my dainty dress and Mary Jane's as ***** as I can.
I am a child in your eyes,
ever since I asked you, timidly, if I could sleep with you because I was afraid of the monsters in my closet and the monsters in the walls.
I am a child in your eyes,
even if I am not a child, even if I am not your child.
I am a child in your eyes,
and you, the real monster, use that against me, especially when the town is asleep and the moon is hidden and my teddy bear is missing and I scream, "No, please, not tonight."
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
My mother tells me I am smart like Frankenstein,
but these days, I resemble his homemade monster.
All shock, all scars, all spliced up;
stitched back together with my own hands.
Sometimes, I think she’s right about me.
I feel like I am made of different people’s parts,
like nothing inside me fits together anymore.
It makes me wonder about Frankenstein’s monster;
if he felt anything about all that patchwork.
If he dreamt of taking himself apart as well,
trying to rearrange his mismatched pieces.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
after Sanam Sheriff.
In this dream, the statistic isn’t 1 in 3 because there is no statistic. There is no **** whistle swaying from our necks. No Rohypnol swimming in our drinks. There is no need for colour-changing nail polish to tell us that the stranger we haven’t seen or the friend that we have is trying to take advantage of us in the alley behind the club. Or our cars in the grocery store parking lot. Or our bedrooms as our mothers think they have just gone to the bathroom. In this dream, we have no need to invent a word such as **** No need to be afraid of who’s in the dark. No need to be afraid for our daughters. No need to panic every time a man raises his voice. Every time a man raises his hand. Every time a man raises his belt buckle. In this dream, there is no more catcall, no ass-grab, no staring so hard it feels like his eyes have already touched us in places we never consented to. In this dream, consent is part of the foreplay. In this dream, we do ask for it. In this dream, they don’t touch us otherwise.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
tonight
i placed the sheets over my head
no light
black
black
but my eyes were open
watching
wide
imagining,
seeing things that i shouldn't
my brain drawing
up
demises for my life that can't be stopped.
songs
do not calm me down.
only the brutality
of screaming into my pillow
and crying so hard
that
my eyes hurt and swell and
ache
when they slowly blink afterwards
calms me down
because after that,
i have nothing else to give.
i have no energy left
no emotions
no more excess feelings
that have built up over the day
or days
or week
that need to be set free.
i would love to die
i would like
to go to the top of a hotel
or an apartment building in the busy city
the lit city
the bustling city that's moving
too fast for me
when it's warm at night and dark
gray
in the sky
stars twinkling
my eyes gazing,
swiping over the constellations i do not know.
i would like to sit there
and listen to a sad, simple song on
repeat for
years.
i would like to sit there
on the ledge
for so long that my fear of heights is no more
so i have time
to reminisce
to think
to
to close my eyes
and remember.
i would want the gray night to last forever
i would want to slip into
a universe
where it's always that way.
listening to my song,
swinging my feet over the ledge
as i remember
my family members' faces
the stupid things i've done
my mistakes
my accomplishments
the good
the bad
the significant
how i was loved
and then try to forget,
but fail.
and then jump
and hear the simple song still playing in my head as i fall
cutting through the atmosphere
hear it through the wind screaming in my ear.
and
over
over
it will be over
and that
is how i'd enjoy dying.
under the weeping stars
and
grimacing moon
on the cracked,
stained,
littered
sidewalk
with a beautiful song in my mind
and
beautiful faces as well.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
They say take a pill.
But I don't want to.
They say I need to be
Stable.
But I don't want to
They say I'm not myself
But I am.
They finally say that
they love me
When they found me dead.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC