Letters, Personal, poetry

Medicated and Mighty

I'm spending the day editing my book and making the final touches on some of the poems, order, and other small details!
I'm honestly amazed with myself for how quickly this is coming together now that I actually have the energy to work on it.
(Thank you Wellbutrin for making me feel alive again.)
Here's another sneak peek at one of the poems that will be in the book; one that I feel suits how I've been feeling this week. Let me know your thoughts!

Store bought neurotransmitters

Are just as valid as homemade

Not being able to make your own

Does not make you weak

And taking the steps to receive help

Doesn't make you broken

It makes you strong as hell

⁃ Medicated and mighty

Letters, Personal

To the Deepest Cut

trigger warning: rape, abuse//{this is a very heavy and triggering story; please stay safe in reading}
Do you even know what you are?

Do you even know what sort of horrible marks you’ve left on me?

Does the thought creep into your head late at night? Does it ever creep into your mind at all?

Rapist.

That’s what you are.

I can hardly bring myself to think that word because of the weight it brings into my thoughts.

Do you even realize that’s what you are? All you’ll ever be?

Or do you sleep soundly completely unaware –

Completely unburdened by the idea

Because to you it was a all just a simple mistake.

In your head you probably aren’t even abusive.

You probably didn’t leave bruises on my arms or marks across my faces.

And what about the other damage? The ones that were never visible but are taking even longer to heal?

What about the way you talked to down to me constantly?

Or screamed at my over the phone until 2 am?

What about all those times when I tried to end our relationship? And you switched from screaming to talking so sweetly, so sadly, about how much you loved me and how you’d probably kill yourself if I ever left you…

Sometimes I wish you would have…

It would’ve saved me from bumping into you on the street.

It would’ve saved me from all the bullshit you spread around behind my back.

I had absolutely no way of controlling the version of our story that you told everyone else.

I was a slut for being raped.

I was a whore for being raped.

I was told to kill myself for being raped.

My self image –

My self perception –

Was ripped away from me and twisted and contorted by you into something I didn’t know how to recognize.

There are days when I still don’t recognize the person looking at me through my mirror.

There are days when all I can hear your voice egging me on.

There are days when all I can replay in my head are the threats and the hits and the cuts and the screaming and the names and the lies and abuse

The utter abuse,

Dragged out for over year with no way of escaping.

And the scariest part of it all?

You probably don’t even realize you’re an abuser.

You probably don’t think you did anything that bad.

You probably don’t even realize the simple fact that holding me down and forcing yourself on me against my will doesn’t just make you a dick with an entitlement complex;

It makes you a rapist.

Letters, Personal

To the Scar that Refuses to Heal

You fucked me up.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to undo all the damage you did. If I’ll ever be able to heal all the scars you left

Your name doesn’t even leave a bitter taste in my mouth, it bites like a poison that reaches my core

I still hear your words echoing in my head. Every goddamn thing you said to me, every goddamn thing you said about me

I can never unsee the image of myself that you painted in my head

I will never be able to unlearn every horrible thing that you taught me about myself

And now here I am

It’s been years but I’m still projecting your image of me onto others

I still close my mouth when I have so much more to say

I still shy away from every touch

I still flinch at the anger I expect to come when I open my mouth

Or speak to much or too loudly 

You shook me to my core in the worst goddamn way possible

I can’t erase those chapter of my life

I can’t undo the typos you left in my head

I can’t undo what you did to me, no matter how hard I try

No matter how many times I pick up a pen and try to revise 

It’s etched in stone 

It’s etched on my skin

I can’t forget or forgive or move on because this is who I am now

This is who you made me into
I can’t unsee myself in the image that you created and I’ve been staring at her for so long I think I’ve forgotten what I looked like before you
I can’t go back now

I wouldn’t know how to be that person anymore that’s an mold I no longer fit into a mold I no longer recognize
Broken bones mend

Scars heal

Bruises fade

But the mark you left on me keeps reopening,

It refuses to heal, refuses to let me move forward and far away from you
I hear your anger in the back of my head every time I open my mouth to speak

Your ghost keeps my quiet, keeps me docile

And I’m sure you’d like it that way

Personal, poetry

My Meteor

I lived in an endless night. I was swallowed in a darkness that had such a dizzying effect on me. I wanted nothing more than to find my way out of its grasp, but I couldn’t let go of the comfortable numbness that I had found in it. The proverbial ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ can be so hard find when you’re trapped in a dazing labyrinth engulfing and enticing you. But suddenly you shot across my sky like a meteor and set my world aflame. Everything was brilliant and dazzling and blinding with such beauty that I didn’t even know was possible. I will never forget that initial light; that spark that changed everything. You took the world around me and changed it right before my eyes. Where I had seen despair and hopelessness I now saw nothing but beauty and purity. The stars in the night sky will always remind me of you, even when you’ve long forgotten about me, because you were my falling star, the meteor that took the hopeless life I held limply in my hands and turned into a new beginning with nothing in its way. The stars will forever be my favorite, because their beauty reminds me of you. But even they look more beautiful reflected in your eyes.

Letters, Personal

To the One Who Broke Down the Wall

I want to share sad stories with you. I want to feel your fingers interlaced with mine as we break down the walls surrounding our hearts. I want to pour my heart out and want you to accept everything I am, everything I was, and everything I will be. I want to lay on a blanket under the stars and talk about our pasts and our future. I want to count the stars and fill the air with smoke from our lungs. I want to fill the empty space around us with our laughter. I want to know about your passions, I want to listen to you try explain the inner workings of your world to me. I want to tell you about the the way ink spills out of my body everyday at 2 am. Show me your scars and let me tell you how strong you are.