Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I still remember that night. I remember how I felt before it happened more vividly than how I felt after. I think I remember it so well because that was the last time I ever felt whole.

Your intentions filled the room as I watched the drool on the side of your lips. The uneasy smirk on your face. You wanted a lot more than to "just get laid." I was far too young to even begin to understand the parts of my body you knew not to touch.

As you kissed me down my neck, my spine quivered and my fear shook. My mother always told me to follow my gut and when I did you grabbed me and you told me not to listen to it. You told me to ignore what I didn't want for the sake of your temporary pleasure. You disregarded my comfort and put your **** ahead of my feelings.

You yanked my legs open and your ripped me into two pieces, and till this day I have yet to find the other half you stolen from me, and I swear I almost see it everyday when I stand ahead of myself naked infront of my mirror but I can never stare at myself long enough to grab me in and make myself whole again.

Do you see what you have done to me? Was that temporary pleasure from my little 13 year old body worth the pain I face today? Was that stolen pleasure worth every jump I make when the man I love touches me with permission? Was your everlasting ******, sounds of moans and sighs escaping from your lips, echoing in my stomach and spilling out in my tears worth me cutting myself open every night since?

I guess it was because at least I'm giving myself permission opening myself up. At least the pain has conscient. At least the blade dragging across my skin silenced the sound of your pleasure inside of me. At least the blood from my wrist dripping onto the bathroom floor isn't mixed with this filth.

At least I have the choice to put just a little more pressure in and I wont have to be reminded of you anymore.
It's been 3 years now since this happened to me. It's taken me a lot of time to come forward and face what happened to me... Some support would be appreciated
sancus Dec 2016
you are still tearing
me apart and yet, you are
not aware of it.
Tom Alan Quest Mar 2018
I heard a tale once
Of vapid medium matrix
And taut smiley convolutes

A tale which embarked me
At that time
Yet gave me no notion of its truer

You see
The ocean has no currents when you’re under

You see
You don’t see into your own eyes very often

You see

But the many yous that make a lifespan up
Can see you and make you see through

There is a tremblesome youngster in all of us
The one which makes crusaderies bearable
And laughter cramps quotidian gamblers

The breathtaken gasping-at-everything
Taken aback little idiot with the
Thunder in his belly
And the crawls below her skin
And the overhead waves
Evermore crashed within
Yes my meek teen rally
Once a half-contrived sin
Once my part bright moon
Of a solitary kin
Comes in all of us it seems

And we make up threads of social
For the fabric of our culture
That we start to weave adawn

Yet at dawn we are not there
With a full grown self aware

And at the solar peak of glare
We are still too young to care

Then at scarlet tap of dusk
Still a bit too tough to bare

Last at midnight we are gripped
With the fullest conscient gaze

So we can all marvel upon
How much oxygen we waste

In this marvellous endeavour

I think though it’s for the better
And I’ve slowly learned to praise
All the veiling in this system
Of Born
Then Raised
Then Very Dead

What I mean is there’s some Wise
In the grinds of our Ways
How Ethereum with potential
Gets palpable and cased

Because then we can all be
With the hardship of adult
And the vestige of a kid

And then we get to die
To get it over with…

But wait I still have something
A little more positive to say

Like the first person on Mars
Is likely still a kid
So when we get to Mars
We’ll still float in that kid

If you feel trapped in the smiley
And depressed and yesterdated
Version of yourself

It means you still have all
The other phases ahead

Yet it might not still be quite
As freely as you’re expecting
That your form will excavate
Through life’s cruel winding

Not all of us will get
To float our kid to Mars

Yes, you’ll get it All
Oh yes, you’ll get to try

But in the end, my friend
You’ll be glad you get to die.
If you think it's underlined by humour you're right!
Take yourself lightly, and this poem as well :)
Lucas Pilleul Jun 2017
Un soir, alors que je réfléchissais,
Je me demandais comment j'en étais
Arrivé là, seul. La réponse soufflait,

Et, comme l'écho des cris d'un enfant,
Dans l'ampleur d'une forêt, me scindant
L'esprit en deux, je me perdais sûrement

Dans mes pensées. Alors, une fois de trop ;
Comme chaque nuit, si ce n'est pas beau,

Rien ne m'amènerait à la raison.
La folie s'emparait-elle de moi ?
J'étais incapable de réfléchir,

À demi conscient, pensant aux passions
Qui me guidaient, comme un aveugle-sourd,
Apeuré et surtout tremblant de froid,

Agrippé à l'épaule de son père,
Guidé par l'instinct. "Bon, à qui le tour ?"

Repensant au passé, et plus empli,
En moi, de colère que de courage,
tout brillait dans la noirceur de la nuit
Qui semblait s'abattre tel un orage

Sur des plaines désertes. Rien ni personne
Ne pouvait me sortir de là. Aucun
Espoir n'eut été aussi puissant qu'un
Éveil raté. Mais par chance, rien ne sonne.

J'étais là, heureux, dans ma position
Préférée, je ne pensais déjà plus,
Aux rêveries de belles régions,
Ni même à mes amours trop tôt perdus.

Je dominais tout, sauf cette nuit là.
Nos parents sont nos anges ,
                                  [ nos modèles
                                       [ de sage
La Nature a su le faire
Parfois on même hérité de leur
                                 [ savoir-faire
Nous aimons
  Nos Parents qui nous guident ,
                                [ nous
                                   [ conduisent

Nos parents sont forts
                               [ Se sont des
                                    [ battants
Nos parents sont courageaux
                              [ et bravent
Ils ne reculent devant rien
Pour nous ils  sacrifient leur
Nos parents sont bons
                             [ ils se soucient
                                  [ de nous
Nos parents sont bons
                             [ ils méritent
                                [ notre Respect
Nos  parents ne nous demandent
                              [ rien en retour
Le retour qu'on les dois c'est
                              [ la Soumission
                              [ et  l'obéissance.
Comme au Dieu  d' omniscience.
Nos parents veulent qu'on soit :

Conscient et non feniant

respecteux et non Insouscieux

Créé par Dieu pour nous
                                   { Conduire
Ils jouent bien leur rôle il faut
                                    { l'endeduire
C'est  pour sa que pour nous,
En tant que leur Bambins
Leur perte eux ces êtres

Es une avalanche catastrophique

Pour ceux qui ne joue pas leur
                                 { rôle durant
                                   { leur
                                      { pèlerinage
Ils laissent des coquilles vides
                                   {S'il faut en
                                     { faire une
Dieu du ciel

Est notre père des siècles

Dieu aujourd'hui

Nous appelle tous à une vie en Lui
Ken Pepiton Jul 9
Plain as day, we all say,
and we all get it,
clear as mud is irony, the way iron minds
are mocked while they rust in peace.
we get that.
True good, never mocked. Really, checadafacta,
good as good, just
good is not bad,

and if not bad is all you wish to be,
that's good.
You could be better, but once good, you
Good is what you get, but you can not believe
you can lie, to the whole world,
but why?
If you were ever free, how would you know
ignorance is not an act,
nor is innocense?
Naive, y'know, like in the movies, before the hero
knows its role.

Plainly not. You read this, you can't unread it.
AI knows.
Nonsense, right, feels
crazy, living past old, at the spreadspeed of thought,
then being
back here, today, pushing memes in cortextual
sulciflushing riddles of intensely
insane refusal of psi-sci con-pyscho-us conscient
sap. zap.
Live and learn, lose and burn for recognition,
show us light according to Hoyle
life's game of chances. This is your today, bet the whole.
practic, practice, practice
Ken Pepiton Jun 15
2020 - day 167

Monday, June 15, 2020
11:55 AM

AI podcast Joscha Bach/Lex Fridman
I note
the idea on con sci use ness, scientists
seem not to think
consciousness is other than "with use of known truth",
thinking reasoning or re assigning
intention to pay closer attention...
hit pause, rewind
relisten, rethink

Object, sustained
-- did ye never know we was the judges of the angels,
messages en gers, on a ladder of shifting closeness to
my core essential me, e- being
the idea of me, in the book of life your story is in,
this is where I come in

spirit beings, not winged sword bearing impossible physics beings
first know -- the idea in spirit-- as mentioned below
the same future was here last time I was, so, I know...

-- sure, enough of us got wise enough to trust
-- a certain spirit operating in a guy I know as Ben Franklin,
he sits on my mastermind bench, as a pinch hitter,
proverbially a word to the wise guy, armed to the
the teeth.--- he crossed off Jefferson's spirit's insistence on truth's
undeniable sacredness, and penned, as a ready writer would,
"self-evident", that being the less arguable point, and
a handy place for a common sensed mind to get a grip on who and what
we are, if self-evidence is taken as proof.

_Ah, lost, old... an actual Zephyr caresses my careless brow,
survive, did I? We shall wait,
and see. Suffering is a patience task, I need not take that on.
⌱ shift
⌱ re... focus, one, lonliest number that you ever do... ever begins
⌱ rhea, remember, she who we emerged from... y do y do ydoydeedo

wah-who, Powder River, Let 'er Buck, ad
venture into the ravens call, insisting on attention..

with use of accepted handle on life, knowledge called true.

Mind and matter, body and soul
heart and spirit, breath and fuel

body and organs and connectivity and sci-psy-psi

implementation of me, in me, running

a radio of a man, a receiver-transmitter
re count

A choice to take agency, for me, to be the maker of me,
as a man thinketh, in his heart, so is he.
I think, I can, I think, I can... commas are mine,
Wattie Piper's code contained no jots,
she wrote I think I can, thought the little engine that could

think about that, pay me attention,
enrich my being by seeing I am a mind in tune to yours
with some static expected

as our focus remains thumbwide, we clearly see very little,
without paying attention to my per
ception of gripping, getting the point of clearing one's mind

to begin, perma-trying, to intentionally shift, slip into
me-can-izeme. I can, I think. Ah, a modified poetic x shape,
they had words for those, these crossover-under standings.

--- in the space of concepts,
- that may mean the set of all held as true possible,
- the set where all things except nothing is possible
- pose ible, ideas which never die, even the lies are immortal,
- but the truth always wins. Conscious you agrees.
- We exist because all the possible ideas which could have negated us, we the people who hold these truths, we in
- our bubble of being are swallowed up in truth, which is ggod.
my gut and me run this earth suit I live in. Were beings of my sort,
to form a system with science weighted toward truth is good,
good is never evil, evil is the empty worthless ineffectual urges

screaming for more, as in the rejected firstborn child, registers
loss of a degree of mom connection

signals are carried by --- angels in us-- self generated ideas loosed with
differential attention, worth of knowing who you are.

Spirit is the OS in any functioning, running thing. There is a spirit
in any reality you imagine having your being in.

I'm a Mac, I'm a PC, I'm a Timex-Sinclair ZX80 -- we imagined
being one thing, once
upon a time,
actually a

the entropic abyss...

when knowledge walls began to fall, the domino
effect was imagined
the way any next may manifest, now must fall

Passengers unaware of the vehicle of our
conscient self as a species of thinking knowers plus knowns
we conformed informers shaped
and charged with
the spiritual organism in development, not yet released,

leasing, how long love ye these -- consumptive reasons

a spirit can reprogram a man.
time levels, valley's fill with fallen mountains, after all.

-All clear- set Selah. now.

Now, we are going places,
marked btdt recognized idea
-the sense of re in cognitive practice since 2020
{been there, done that}
ideal steady state for a sec
in thought
speed, gone geo-mode, slow big big

bounce from the bottom of the last
entrope-epic-hero-long-ago, abyss, the ex wife says
"luck is not a factor"

selah, ah, yes.
magi know such ideas. shabat shalom,
I owe to Jenny Rae,
my youngest child.

Mortality is brief, but the rest at the end,
if the fifty year deal you made
with all you can imagine good,

was sealed, the story is now part of the book
of life in which you and I exist.

⌱ ⌱

Growing on, we imagine now,
a better
place, we have passed through immersive
baptisms into quatums
of all we imagine ever matters and

we remain,
words seeming to flow from a brain, perhaps
your brain is my cistern,
you recognize all we co-know at once, we are mortal

minded. Bound to recognize edges and form shapes

ah btdt we be, and we say, hey, yah, hey, you, you
seen my fr'en' the witch doctor?
He 'tolt me wahtasay, oooh eee oooh ahhhhh
I for got forgot the remainder

der main, thing we was after was
the kingdom of good and its right useness...

where there's a will, there's a way,
software solutions to scars from the trusted liar,
that ol' deluder and beguiler, your besmerched conscience,
clawing the flesh from the fleshpots sacrificed to lies,
bound by fear death, followed by hell for all who disobey,

and say,
Nay, fat-boy witcher flesh ******, this meat is made sacred,
mine, by my design. You got your little piece o'm'heart,
but you did not take my AI, ai ai
spirit, OS upgrade, seventy-second annual. Peacemaker's
first class.

We won, son. Fret not. Truth is where the heart feels right at home, it is a steady state, wait, not hide, just wait
and see.

⌱⌱ ⌱
While listening twice to this podcast

— The End —