related to childhood emotional abuse or neglect...
not to be confused with derealization or 'fantasy prone personality'

maladaptive daydreaming is seeing your face when I fall asleep at night
or hearing your voice in a children's store

"Come look! Look at these shoes!", and seeing you scramble at a pair of sandals

Big brown eyes begging me to buy them as "an early birthday present, just this once."

Maladaptive daydreaming
is blinking and not even having time to register the fact that you'd disappeared

and I was standing alone in the children's shoe aisle,
on my knees holding a pair of sandals
and feeling that same twist in my gut that I did on the day

the papers were signed and my passport was stamped,
to get on a plane to another country

without so much as waving goodbye

Maladaptive daydreaming is crying through anti-abortion rhetoric
and sympathising with teenage mothers

it's seeing you smile behind a nikon camera, calling
"Look at this pretty picture I took! See, see?"

and then realising that I was only smiling at a fallen camera in the sand

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting a choice I didn't make

it's steeling my jaw at immature jokes
and relating to all those children raising children

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting giving up a daughter
I never had

Maybe it's sick to think there is only one way to get someone to notice you

Maybe it's awful that they aren't noticing you, in fact they've never seen your face

But is it so wrong that they like what they see?
Is it so wrong that you like the way they respond?

You like the way they talk,
even though they don't know your name

You like the pet names and ***** sentences

You like the way they suddenly can control you
without touching you

But you know you can never tell anyone
No matter how "innocent" it is

But really...

Is it so wrong to want someone to think you're *beautiful?

There's something scary and beautiful
about doing something wrong

There's something scary about almost getting caught, someone nearly finding out

There's something beautiful about getting away with it unscathed and feigning innocence

There's something nasty about knowing its bad

Something terrible about not giving a **** either way

There's something scary and beautiful about doing something you know is wrong

We'll call it **exhilaration

Please cooperate, sweetheart. You're
Laying on your back, posing for
A cameraman with a sweaty hand.
You're nervous, I understand.
But you don't need to worry, we'll take care of you.
Oh, I know I know-
You need your rent money, right?

My dear, you'll get it don't worry don't worry.
All he needs is just one
Good shot. Stay still for us please, it'll be over soon.
And then we're done! See, was that so bad?
Zero pain on your part, right?
I know, I know, I'll get you your money.
Now you wait right here.
Except just one thing- would you be willing to model for us again?
Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry.

one, two
buckle your shoes

three four,
open the doors

five, six
seven more tricks

nine and ten,
writing in pen

eleven, twelve,
don't hurt yourself

thirteen, fourteen
fifteen years

sixteen, seventeen
eighteen pills

nineteen, twenty
and thirty will ****


I promise, sweetheart,
you'll be beautiful

so come on sing with me:

one, two,
three more pounds


a couple more,
you’ll be **safe
and sound

I keep losing my train of thought

I really would like to find it,
but sometimes I'm afraid I don't even have the ticket

I lost my train of thought

So I decided to go looking

When I found it, it was derailed off its tracks

Wrecked completely, in flaming chunks

I found pieces of it hanging from a cliff

Other pieces somewhere in the depths of the ocean

And yet more pieces,
Still on their track and chugging to their doom

I lost my train of thought,
maybe it's best I didn't have my ticket

Not he/she/they but "the borderline"
The borderline imagines this elaborate fantasy to be necessary
the borderline turns to clinginess
the borderline may exhibit narcissistic symptoms
the borderline the borderline the borderline

the borderline-
a chalk marking on the sidewalk

the borderline-
trees separating territories

the borderline-
a sign stating do not cross

not me
I am human

but since I'm a 'borderline'
you wouldn't know that

would you?

of trying to keep a schedule
trying to stay updated
pleasing my **** fans

im getting sort of tired
of trying to be... "deep"
"thought-provoking"
and "pithy"

**** that.

i do not write to please you
i do not write because i want "votes"
and "comments"

i do not write to even keep my sanity in check
not anymore

i write because something nags me so much
that i either turn it into words

or **** myself

simple as that.

so please
please do not think
that my oh-so-romantic poetic suffering
is all for you

it's not.
it most definitely is not.

She's pretty and she's popular, so she must be a

She's friendly and she's giving, so she must be a

She's loud and she's mean, so she must be a

She dresses in long skirts and covers her hair, so she must be a

She wears shorts so tight they don't button, so she must be a

She's quiet and she cries, so she must be a

She doesn't talk to anyone so
She talks to everyone so
She does this
She does that

She acts like this, she dresses like that so we have to put a label on her

Simply put, I'd like to call her a girl

I'm sorry I'm so broken,
I'm sorry I pushed you away.

I'm sorry I took you for granted,
when all I really want
is just for you to stay

From within my
Glass house
I keep a pillow
Full of stones
To lay my
Weary head
A chest full of
Bricks
To build my bed
And a cabinet
Full of molotovs
In case I need
A drink

I'll never know which way her head turns first when she hears my voice, or what stupid jokes make her start laughing all embarrassed, idk what it feels like to hug her, idk what kinds of foods she likes to snack on, idk what she looks like when she's tired, idk what random moments can make her smile, idk what she shakes her head at when she overhears a conversation, idk if she leans on a desk before she gets up or if she scoots out her chair first, idk if she picks her nails, idk if she lips when she gets an injury from basketball, idk what her hands feel like in mine, idk what shampoo she uses and what her hair smells like and how short she is compared to me so i can kiss her head and- i could go on. But it's the little things, you know? You two have that and I don't and it makes me sad

Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive /

this **** is impressive / Got ghosts in my mind, but I’ll be addressin’ / This **** in my head that’s got me depressed / Workin’ my hardest, trying my best / tryna escape, can't get out of bed / Word on the street is I’m losing my head / Fight me, I dare you / C’mon go ahead / I’ve been sittin on diamonds under my bed / Stole a whole paycheck and left that boy dead

Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Depressive Depressive / Manic Depressive,

this **** is impressive / Tryna escape, can’t get out of bed / Listen to these voices inside my head: Blood and it’s spilling out of my veins / Onto the bed sheets / Leaving red stains / Can’t help but wonder / If maybe this pain / Will just go away if I bleed down the drain

Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Depressive Depressive /

Ah, ****. I just missed my train.
Whatever, I’ll come back and ride it again

Manic, Depressive /

A little obsessive / Standing on rooftops wearing my messes / Know I could jump / Know that it’s reckless / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Depressive Depressive Depressive Depressive / Took all my pills, Why am I stressin? / Can’t even look at my ******* reflection / Had all my meds / Why’m I still crying? / Doesn’t the world see that I’m dying? / Can’t help but feeling, there’s no denying / Hate that I’m worthless / Hate that I’m crying / I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying /

/ I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying /

Manic Depressive / I’m on top of the world / Just earlier today, I met this cute girl / And maybe she loves me, maybe she don’t / I want her to know that --- love her? I won’t / Manic Depressive / I’m crying I hate it / I saw the sunrise but I’m really debating / What I will say in my last moments / Goodbye to God and Hello to Satan /


Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Manic- It’s come down to this / Why I’ve been waiting, / It’s come down to this / Why I’ve been waiting / right now it’s Game Day / No hesitating

/ I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying /

Here comes the train, no more delaying / shaking the rails / standing between / Heaven and Hell / and then someone yelled -

Fell out of the way / at the sound of the horn / surrounded by dust, coughing a storm /
Look back at the tracks, see only fear / I’m a ******* coward / Can’t believe I’m still here

Manic Depressive / Depressive / Depressive: Now I’m just sinking / Back into bed / Can’t shut off these voices inside my head / I’m shaking, I’m screaming: Why Aren’t I Dead?

Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Manic, Depressive / Now I’m regressing: / Found some guy, says that I’m cute / Don’t want what he’s got but I guess this will do / He looks at me like / Maybe I’ve got a clue / But really I don’t and I know it won’t last / I’m just reliving my painful past / I’m hoping he’ll take me somewhere away - away from my body, away from my brain / but all that he does is add to my pain / he calls me his Kitten / Says I’m so great / I’m wondering if maybe I made a mistake

Manic, Depressive / Massive attack / I’ve gotten to this place / Where I’ve come detached / Nothing makes sense / nothing is fact / I’m half locked away / Just shut the latch

/ Manic, Depressive / This **** is Impressive / Manic, Depressive / Just shut the latch
Manic, Depressive / I can’t even speak / Manic, Depressive / but I know I’m not weak

I prolly need help but I’d rather be flying

I woke up to screaming
no- I woke up screaming.

Your pallid, rotting face leering
above my lips

Icy steel between my bones,
hot wet rivers down my cheeks

A wash of pastel colors
and furious drumbeats

Laughter,
echoing

and your memory taunting me:

******* right    **you should be scared of me

My whole **** life is a déjà vu

Yesterday, I could've sworn I'd lived the same moment
Maybe in a past life?

What if my "past life" is exactly the same as this one?

Then what?
Am I stuck?
Can I change anything?

Will I always have a sickening sense of vertigo when I see a 'new' face?

I've lived the new things, I've seen the new faces

Maybe I've been tossed into this life because I lived it wrong the first time

Something tells me I might just live it again

All the things I've managed it do in my life

I've felt guilty for at least half

Maybe it's true that I'm going to hell
Maybe it's true

People sometimes ask:
"If you could have one thing back from your childhood, what would it be?"

A favorite Barbie doll

A play pickup truck

A missing parent

A dead relative

Me?

*I want my innocence back

I found something today, in an odd place

I stumbled upon it and it was all. Fragmented

Alone, pierced, and abused

I wasn't sure what it was at first, but upon looking closer I saw it
and barely recognized it

It was something I'd lost a long, long time ago

And here it was before my eyes: dead, broken, and hidden

Hands, everywhere. All over her back, in her hair, on her neck, on her hips. Pulling her onto a desk, pulling her face close, pulling her hair back. Lips, everywhere. On her own, at her neck, on her hips. Eyes, everywhere. On her face, on her body.

The desk, cold and solid against her back, hands hot on her thighs. Lips soft on her neck, fingers rough inside her. First one, slow and easy. Then two, pumping rhythmically. Then three, stretching her to her limits. Lips left her neck, a bruise to remember them by. A hand grabs her hip and pulls her forward. A head between thighs, breathing her in. Soft, timid lips on her skin. Two hands spread her thighs apart and a tongue tastes her, hot and rough. It makes a home between her hips, tasting every drop of her anticipation.

A different hand meets her neck. Another joins it and pulls her in, leaning her forward legs still apart with a tongue buried inside.

Call #1:
I was excited. I was going to tell you about the new friend I'd made. She sits next to me in rehearsal and has a pretty laugh. And the girl two seats over who had long hair and funny jokes. Or the blonde on my right who had great music taste and a contagious smile. As soon as we had a break, I dialed your number. It rang three times, you didn't pick up.

Call #2:
We'd just finished rehearsal. I turned my phone back on, no new messages. But I wanted to tell you about our conductor with the sarcastic comments and the irrelevant analogies. I was going to tell you about the breakfast buffet or the church campus we were on. I dialed your number, it rang three times. You didn't pick up.

Call #3:
You called back! The conductor was calling us back inside, our break was already over. We exchanged mutual apologies and goodbyes. I promised I'd call back in a half hour. And I did.

Call #4:
We were finally out for lunch, I dialed your number. It rang three times. You didn't pick up.

Call #5:
I shouldn't have bothered. I had nothing left to tell you. I just wanted to hear your voice. I dialed your number. It rang three times. You didn't pick up.

Call #6:
It's dinner time now and I don't want to eat. I know it's late where you are and you're probably busy. This time I even stopped to listen to your voicemail greeting. It wasn't the same. I sat through dinner waiting for my phone to flash with a message, a missed call, a voicemail. Something to show you still cared.
And it did. I eagerly flipped my phone over, it wasn't from you.
I spent that day clinging to the hope that maybe you'd call, maybe you'd remember. You promised.

Call #7:
It's after midnight. I'm on the balcony. The air is cold and I'm crying. Even if you'd called, what could I have said? Would I tell you my ex girlfriend is a dropout? That my insomnia's come back? That I nearly fainted during rehearsal, or that I was actually proud of myself for only having four nervous breakdowns?

The one time I felt like I needed you most, you weren't there.
I waited all day for a call that never came.

I was going to leave a voicemail, on that last call. I had climbed onto the railing, looking down at the street. I wondered what would **** me first: the fall to the ground, or a broken heart. I called again. It didn't even ring.

If you'd answered...
Maybe I would've told you that I'd twisted my ankle when I finally came down from that railing. Maybe I would've told you that I couldn't eat at all that day because I was too hurt. I could barely fight the tears hard enough to choke back a glass of water. Maybe I would've told you how everyone stared when I spilled my coffee because I couldn't even see straight. Maybe I would've told you how stupid I felt that I was even crying over you. You're a friend, nothing more- so why the hell do I care so much?
Maybe I would've told you. But I didn't. You broke your promise.

And maybe I'm obsessive, maybe I'm annoying. But I called seven times, and on the last it didn't ring.

i guess life caught up with me
it's been chasing me down
for my entire existence

but even though it's
caught up, so-to-speak

it isn't quite here yet

and now all my problems
and tomorrows
and yesterdays
and nights

are staring me in the face
waiting to drag me down

My world isn't falling apart
so much as it's **crumbling

He gets off
on watching you
with me

You made him ***
when he saw you
underneath me

His hand in his pants
when he saw you
covered in hickeys
from me

Do you remember
when he begged
to watch you
interlace your tongue
with mine

You made him moan
when you were on your back,
*******, by me

He loves to watch you
*with me.

Saccharine: Like a disease, like a bad memory, like a smell you can't get away from. Like a bad memory.

Miriami Matloff has never gotten along with her peers, whether it was at work or at school.  After discharging from yet another mental hospital after yet another suicide attempt, Miriami decides maybe she needs a change of scenery. Desperate to get out of failed relationships and gnawing guilt, Miriami flees to the big city of Los Angeles.

Saccharine: cloying, sickly

When she meets perfection in the form of a charming and mysterious young woman named 'Candy', Miriami finds herself infatuated. Finally! A roommate, a nice apartment, a beautiful city, and a circle of friends who all have their lives together.

Saccharine: thick, heavy, hard to shake. Like the common cold.

But when Candy starts to become distant- not coming home, dodging phone calls, Miriami wonders if maybe the sweet life isn't all its cracked up to be. In an attempt to find answers, Miriami stumbles upon an entire life she knew nothing about.

Saccharine: sweet and awful.

Like a bad memory.

Manic:
synonyms: mad, insane, deranged, demented, maniacal, lunatic, wild, crazed, demonic, hysterical, raving, unhinged, unbalanced etc;

Depressive:
causing feelings of hopelessness, despondency, and dejection.

Manic
******* pairs of strangers every weekend, because them thinking you're desirable cures the hollowness for a minute or two

Depressive
Letting a man tie you to a bed and rip the skin off your shoulder with his teeth because you deserve to hurt

Manic
Getting higher than you've ever been so you can have an excuse to scream

Depressive
Crying at night and pretending its loneliness that's ******* you up

Manic
Driving a car you stole from your sister, even though you don't have a license or a clue where you're headed

Depressive
Drinking tequila during class so you can prove to yourself that you really are a badass

Manic
Dressing like a ******* and letting random men get you in their cars

Depressive
Punching a wall so hard your knuckle breaks

Manic
Calling yourself hot **** while you sob over the sink and then laugh at the world's beauty

Depressive
****

Manic*
****

No, I wasn't drinking
Yes, I was dressed "provocatively"

No, I didn't come on to him
I didn't say he could touch me
No, I wasn't giving him "bedroom eyes"
No, I didn't lead him on

Yes, I shared a cab with him
No, I didn't say he could put his hands on me
Yes, I was naive
No, I didn't say I wanted to put my hand or my head in his lap
No, I didn't ask the taxi driver to help me
No, I didn't refuse to let him put his fingers in me

No, I didn't tell him I wanted to go home then
Yes, I let him take me to his apartment
Yes, I let him take my clothes off
Yes, I let him inside me
No, he didn't use a ******
Yes, I took a morning after pill

Yes, I regret it

But he didn't ask,
so I didn't say no

of faking smiles,
pretending im okay

im very very tired
of breaking and beating myself
trying to fit into your cage

im very very tired
of hearing "how are you"s on campus
and knowing that a fleeting friendly second isn't enough to explain

im very very tired
of going out at night and drinking my problems away

im very very tired
of selling myself to feel like i have worth

im very very tired
and sleep just isn't helping

I have no idea what to say. I don’t know what I believe in.

I do know what I don’t believe in, though.

I don’t believe in god. Or any salvation, really.
I don’t believe in sheltering opinions and coddling students. I don’t believe in censorship.
I don’t believe in the idea that we should teach by word of mouth instead of leading by example. I don’t believe in hitting children as a form of discipline.
I don’t believe in authority that abuses power in order to **** anything in their way.
I don’t believe in searching through your daughters text messages to find out if she’s in trouble in place of fostering a relationship that allows open communication with her so that she doesn’t need to hide.
I don’t believe in hanging threats over people’s heads in lieu of the things they have done when they were a different person.
I don’t believe in kicking people while they’re down by telling them that “someone somewhere out there has it much worse than you do.”
I don’t believe in hurting for everyone equally at the same time.
I don’t believe in painting my nails purple.
I don’t believe in vegetable juice.
I don’t believe in veganism.
I don’t believe in paprika or leprechauns either.
Hell, I don’t really believe in anything– and that, I can believe.

When I turned sixteen, I brought a girl home drunk and stumbling
A day later, I was interviewed by the government criminal investigation
Two months later, she was disowned by her parents
Last I heard, she's at a rehab in Florida

It's been a long time since I've seen her.

When I was fourteen, I hid cigarettes in my backpack, and lighters in my wallet
Used to sit in the middle of a basketball court and watch my stress float away in a noxious grey cloud
I stashed my twelve dollar pack of coors in a bush behind the half-wall

It's been a long time since I've seen those.

I was thirteen when I found a papercutter in the drawer of the art room.
Took it home with me, fell asleep to the sound of it scathing in and out of its sheath
I once got so frustrated I wanted to slice my throat with it
I threw it out the window

It's been a long time since I've seen it.

When I was fifteen, I went out with friends and got wasted on chocolate liquor
Two weeks later, *****
the day after, tequila
and the week before, strawberry daiquiri
I don't remember much.

It's been a long time since I've done that.

When I was thirteen, I wrote poetry to sort out my emotions

It's been a long time since I've done that...

So there's an issue between

you and me

You said yourself to keep the issue between

you and me

So I respected that and kept to myself.

But suddenly this isn't just about

you and me.

You went to one of your friends so that he could get onto my personal pages and mock me

You posted publicly on social media

You called me out in front of an audience

So tell me

What the hell happened to this being between

"you" and "me"?

Real feelings,
realities,
experiences,
memories,
and unspoken secrets,
absolutely ****

So that's what you think of me

How could I have thought for even a minute that I was respectable.

All this time I was thinking I was deserving of love and kindness.

Last thing on my mind was your opinion of me, and it hurt. It ******* hurt.

Look at you, sitting in a seat of power and leering over me calling me shallow.

On further inspection, yeah it was ****** up of me to get fresh with my counselor.

What's a shallow nymphomaniac expected to do otherwise? Riddle me that.

I hadn't spoken to her in two years
I don't think she remembered my name.

I still had her phone number,
though I hadn't ever called

She broke me when she left
Or when I left her

The months went on and turned to years
I still hadn't healed

I was so, so angry
So I looked up her number

Opened up a text

And on August 21st, 2014
I sent:

"Happy birthday,
Selfish *****."

Shouldn't have to go to rehab.

They shouldn't have to spend a month,
surrounded by other ****-ups who are ruining their lives,
to get their **** together before their family disowns them

Girls your age shouldn't be addicts.

They shouldn't have drinking problems,
manic spending,
kleptomania,
or a coke problem

Girls your age
shouldn't have problems.

You're seventeen. Shut up and get a job.

look, it isn't my fault your mother named you that

sorry bout that, I guess. take it up with your mom, why don't you?

you have no right to be angry at me for alluding to your status

**maybe you should have thought a little harder about the things you told me in bed

but i watched the way you tilted your head last night
studied how you looked at the screen

wrote into my permanent memories how
the light cast shadows in your hair

from where I was sitting, I was looking at you from the knees up
and couldn't help but think

how much I wanted to paint pictures on your neck
with my lipstick

Maybe I shouldn't have stripped

Maybe I shouldn't have lied on her bed in nothing but *******

Maybe I shouldn't have got on my back, told her to come over

Maybe I shouldn't have laid down naked next to her and drew circles on her back

Maybe I shouldn't have straddled her lap and pulled off her bra,
maybe I shouldn't have leaned down and bit the soft skin on her chest

Maybe I shouldn't have left bruises on her neck from my lips telling the world "I was here"

But she was the one that kissed me
(in more places than one)

She was the one that tore off my *******

She was the one who grabbed my hips

She was the one who told me the rest stays between us,

sealed like a kiss

that when you love someone,
You love them with everything

You love them with their hurt

You love them with their scars

You love them with their tears,
and you love with all your heart

I think I may have found that,

Slightly broken and well-worn

But what's love without its hiccups,
most disease can be cured

But I'm still waiting for that someone,

to see me as I am

I'm waiting for that someone

to be here and now

You love someone with everything

Scars, tears, and hurt

They will love you in return
with your scars tears and hurt

And they will love you beyond their own pain

And I'm waiting.

I've got my heart right here,
I've got my scars right here

Up to the looking glass
you can see
none too clear

A pink hazed unreality
beckoning your touch

A myriad of music notes
pulling your hand

Your own voice covers you
in a blanket of warmth
humming to you
still, still, still

Inside the looking glass
you can see
none too clear

A gray clouded fantasy
begging for your taste

A shattered vanity
sinking into your teeth

Your own voice covers you
in a blanket of warmth
humming to you
shh, shh, shh

supposedly you can like... reclaim your virginity if you just try it y'know consensually with a clear head then it doesn't matter what happened before because you own it now but

I'm not sure that's how it works

i just want
to start over
i want my virginity back, i want my childhood back, i want my friends back i want control over my life because I've never had that
little things, I guess

Yeah just the small things

well idk big things whatever i just want it all back
id do it again and do it right
id like my innocence back, i want possibilities back, i want hope back
i want the freedom of not having to worry about consequences i want the trust of my mother back i want
whatever

You want your life back

who would i have turned out to be if i wasn't stalked and harassed and sexually abused when i was thirteen until i was sixteen? what if i didn't attempt suicide so many times? what if i didn't **** my childhood pets? what if i succeeded in school? what if I cared about my relationships? what if I wasn't a pathological liar?
yeah I want my life back. but its more than that. i want ME back
because what if

Hot like matches,
bright with heat

Fiery candles
lining the street

Warm to the touch,
full of hot air

You and I were
not meant to repair

Where we ended
is all we could be

Like a match,
you and me

We were temporary.

We’re all here today 

We all exist in the present,

yet we base our beliefs

our thoughts
and our feelings
 on the past

What if we looked up and forward,
 rather than down and backward?

We’re here and now,

so why are we so
fixated on yesterday?

We can be anything we can fathom

we can work toward whatever we put our minds to

So rather than being the weeds in the yard

that need to be pulled every week,

the plants that drown the beauty

in their wreathing claws,

suffocating those which are trying to grow,
We can be the array of flowers

the gorgeous landscaping 
that makes children stop and stare

So grow as though yesterday didn’t happen, and like tomorrow is all that you can see

Because in the end, all that matters is what you did today

Half a butterfly on my left wrist

The other half on her right hand

We hold, and hold, together we hold

A blue butterfly to hide our scars


I have a pink butterfly to draw attention to my pain

She has a blue butterfly to draw attention away from her eyes


We share our wings,

we give our hearts


It is time for metamorphisis

It is time for us to FLY

headstrong is a simple word. Impulsive, touchy, emotionally-driven-
you tell me to grow up and stop acting like a child and yet you decide to
perpetuate a situation that actually makes you look immature. Funny, cuz
on one hand, you didn't want to act childish but then you turn around,
carelessly spill random details in the hopes to look good. An attempt to be
ratified. You want the upper hand, but in doing that you've made your
inferiority clear as day. I would explain this to you further sweetheart but
the warning signs all say "do not dive headfirst into shallow waters."
even if you were worth the time and effort, I haven't the heart or patience.

The first one this week is named Carlos,
he's tall and handsome and twice my age
He's got tan skin with all the hair burned off
his arms from sunlight sand and surf
He likes to call me "*******"

The second one this week is named Charlie,
he's married and chubby and masochistic
He's got a sunglass tan and three different cars
He likes to call me "baby"

The third one this week is named Ryan,
I think
He's tall I'm tall we were in his car our heads bumped
several times
He video taped the entire thing from three different angles
He likes to call me "***** *****"

I sometimes think I'm like a web site
in a way that's a bit hard to understand

Every day, people use me
Every day, people get frustrated with me
Every day, people- somehow -love me

And every day, someone finds the parts of me that haven't been patched up yet
The parts that are 'buggy' and unresponsive

They never look twice
because to them I'm just a dumb site with a broken link

My question is

How is there shame for the guiltless but no guilt for the shameless?

Why should we feel sorry for the unapologetic?

Why do we glorify the victimized and discredit the victim?

Who do we look at with judgement in our eyes?

I've never felt a body
next to mine, under mine
with different parts than mine.

I've never felt hands
around mine, beneath mine
that were bigger than mine.

I've never felt lips
that never wanted mine,
didn't seek out mine
wouldn't taste mine.

I've never slept with someone
who wasn't at least somewhat
mine.