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

Personal, poetry

Thoughts On: Feminism

Walking to my car

Alone

At night

A vice grip around my keys

Held like a weapon 

It’s a short distance 

But we all know the dangers

We’ve all been taught the dangers

Since we were too young to properly understand them

Too many stipulations on a young existence 

It’s the fear of never knowing true freedom 

The fear of never truly being able to say “No” and be heard

And be validated 

When we’ve all been taught from a young age

How to act

How to dress

How to speak

How to live

How to avoid being a victim

But in these lessons

We were taught something greater

How to stand 

United

Never making a move alone

Stronger together

So we take our stand

And fight

Together

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.