I've seen that look before.
I see it every time I close my eyes.
I see that look and my breath catches in my throat.
I see that look on every face that I don't want to see it on.

 I've felt that touch.
The touch that haunts me at night.
The touch that still coats my clean skin.
The touch won't disappear.
Like sharpee on dry erase.

 
I see the pity. The longing.
The lust. The hatred. The jealousy.
The dismissal.
I see it.

 I see it like the thousand scars marring my body.
I feel it like the fingers that dig into my flesh
As I cling to my sanity.
naked...exposed...blind...
I stand back and feel them look at me and
shrink.

 
I SEE YOU!
And I scream it over and over and over again
And still no one sees me.
 

But I can't see me either.
I'm a prisoner of the past.
My freedom is bound in chains.
I don't let the sunlight stream in.
It doesn't warm me like it used to.

 
I don't let the outside inside.
I don't let the looks find me.
I don't see you so you don't see me.
I hide.

 
But you don't see that.
You don't see me.
You see you.
And all that you hate in you.

 
You see weakness.
You see fear.
You see lust.
You see shame.

 

 And it works out for you because only mine is on display.

Yours only comes out when you think no one is looking.

 
But I've seen that look before.

I draw a smile
  with a yellow highlighter
on my down-turned frown
when I feel down.

I paint a smiley
   tattoo with a Sharpee
under my nose with upturned
   corners, it tickles me so.

I Shoot my reflections
   sadness between the eyes
with iridescent paint *****
     and never miss, the glow in my darkness.

I then stand naked in my id
      calling every demon daring them,
come to get me you *******
      *******.

Smiley bodied emoticon:
   Here....... :)))))))))

Im not a child
But I walk around with my eyes wide open
Surprised by the little new things I learn
And traumatized
By the scary ones

Like the three toddler steps forward
Holding on tight to the hand that gave it life
Never letting go

I'm not a child
but I listen out for my mothers voice
and crave the basic things
Like love and protection, safety and locked doors
Maybe a kiss on the forehead once in a while

I have tantrums in my bedroom
And cry puddles and puddles of tears
In moments of frustration

No, I'm not a child
but I look to everyone else for guidance
Directions; maybe even real specific ones
Marked with a red sharpee on my bedroom wall

So that I always know when I wake up
how and where and when
To turn on this journey

No im not a child
But I feel primitive and undeveloped
Fetal like
Overwhelmed and confused by the bright lights
And bright colors plastered onto the universe
All the time

No, Im not a child
Not in the way my long hair falls past my round *******
Nor by the anxious crinkles on my forehead
Not by the way I smeared on red lipstick for the club
Or reached for the suit on interview day

I'm not a child
Not by the existential quandaries
Or the words I type anxiously on my keyboard
Not in the way I check my bank account each day
Before I check out at the grocery  
Or by the way I flaunt my independence
And preach about dismantling the patriarchy
No I'm not a child
Not in the way I look or act or seem

But I have a secret to share
And its been masked by shame and illusion

I still feel like a child
And really I don’t know
If that will ever change