#twabuse
The room was dark
Except for my little nightlight
That depicted some kind of children's Bible story
That I no longer remember
But it glowed and reflected against my face
And when he looked into my eyes
I swear he saw an endless sea to explore
Greedy and only searching for a treasure
And it didn't take long for him to find one
A chest he stole and emptied into his hands
Shaking out every piece of worth
Until nothing remained but a shell
His hands oxidized the gold -
Shattered the gemstones -
And took away all that belonged to me
Leaving me in my bed
Staring at the nightlight,
Until my eyes got heavy and my hand reached forward
It didn't look like mine anymore
It looked like a child's: small and innocent
That wasn't me now - he had taken that, too
I flipped the switch so I didn't have to look
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 3:49 AM UTC
There was a little girl,
Never seen, never heard,
Her heart ached,
Her vision blurred.
Hannah drank until dawn,
Her knuckles bruised and ******
For a woman, she was brawn,
Oh, what an unlucky little girl.
She looked next to the sink, there were tablets,
Hoping to forget Hannah's abusive habits,
The little girl heard screams and shouts,
Her tears stung and she swallowed her doubts.
Crashing, crying and threats,
The little girl cries behind the door,
Hannah cannot pay her debts,
She looks next to the sink and finds her answer.
The little girl slashes her wrists,
Taking more tablets, this makes six.
The bruises will fade tomorrow,
Though, the blood continues to flow.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
suicidal thoughts are kind of like
having a really deep cough.
they’re the tingling sensation on
the bottom of your lungs each time you
start to inhale and if you try to breathe too deeply
they take over, they double you over,
filling up your lungs like water, sloshing,
and suddenly you’re drowning
as you fix your red lipstick.
you’re dressed for the **** and your
hit list stares you down through the mirror every day.
waste of space waste of time waste of money waste of good lines,
a ‘wanted’ ad that specifies ‘rather dead than alive’
because it’s less personal for it to be ****** than to call it suicide.
how sad is it that you peaked in middle school?
that the height of your social and emotional career was
the seventh grade, before all your friends
skipped town in eighth and then
freshman year you weren’t even an ex-friend but
manipulative and they labelled you
‘abusive.’ you find yourself having a
coughing fit every time you remember it,
watery lungs patted dry with paper towels
because yeah maybe you’re all friends again and
maybe they’ve apologized but do they really mean it,
or are you being a victim blamer,
you emotional abuser?
when you wake up at three in the morning
because the creatures in your nightmares are just barely
scarier than the skeletons in your closet,
think about everything you’ve ever done
in the past three years and manipulate it.
give yourself panic attacks over conversations
that have never happened,
riddle yourself with anxiety over what never was,
overexpose the photographs of your darkest memories
until they’re nothing but another lead weight in your stomach.
make yourself sick.
wake up with a throat sore from your
swallowed down screams
wake up with a tingle underneath your lungs
because you know that you’ll never be able to properly breathe,
that you’ll never get a full breath of air without that cough
swelling up and leaving you gasping
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
i’m sorry i cried when you touched me
i wasn’t used to fingers
feeling like feathers
and hands holding me
like a kind of ripe fruit.
lovers before you
were a bit more heavy handed
hard headed
tossing me around like some old toy
that they were tired of
uninspired and
wringing me like
i somehow had the answers
tucked so far in deep.
i am not used to being handled
gently.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
i am losing my hands to razor blades again.
my demons wont stop clawing at the walls
of my heart shaped pandora’s box.
i am forcing laughter so hard that my ribs are sore.
and you are still so beautiful that it hurts to look.
oh what a pleasure to be
the cigarettes you keep on smoking,
i could creep inside you so softly.
baby could you sneak into me?
**** me quietly from the inside out
i am crying so hard that my eyes may bust out of my head.
you didn’t like it when i called my self abuse a
public display of affection for you.
did you rethink your “i love you more”?
were you embarrassed by the bruises
that my little fists left in your door?
i am always the one that loves more.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
I do not want to blame you.
I fell hopelessly, desperately in love
and that was not your fault.
Our summer was smiles and laughter
and sleepy morning *** and cuddles at 2AM.
How could I not love you?
All was golden in your presence
and nothing hurt.
The demons of yesterday were banished
by the warmth of your adoration,
and I slowly forgot the sorrow
growing around my heart like a sickness.
I do not blame you.
But no one taught me the difference
between love and dependence.
No one taught me that I could love you
and still say no.
I let you tie me down, hold me,
Hurt me,
because I was terrified to lose you.
I know I shouldn't blame you.
But I still flinch at unknown hands,
still pull away when I feel threatened,
and I feel threatened more than ever.
Anxiety claws my throat,
hands shake, vision blurs,
His eyes are your eyes are his eyes
and I can still hear your voice.
"Kneel ****
I don't know how I stand up now.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:33 AM UTC