raw
This will be short, choppy and unedited.
I just need an outlet. Help me.
Aside from everyday people, old school peers and drunken men, showers also mock me.
I scrub and scrub and stand constantly under the water and can never feel clean enough...
and worst of all
I can never get their smell
mostly his smell off of me.
I just keep telling myself
its all in my head.
In the year 2007 I have:
showered 17 times
washed my clothes 9 times
washed my hair 10 times
it will never go away.
I have never learned to ask for help. Ive been so sad for so long and its getting to me.
I am in a constant tailspin, an awful descent.
Someday, somewhere it has to end.
It has to end.
It has to go away.
Someday I will write in ultimate past tense.
Someday I will be able to write that I once knew a wolf.
One who left scars with his claws and bruised my wrists.
He would whisper things in my ear, kiss me with his jagged teeth and tell me no one would ever own me but him.
I did the unthinkable. I cried. I cried so much as I cleaned my sheets. His fingers were always cold and his breath was hot and I seemed to learn silence and compliance quite quickly.
The predator would fall upon the throat of his prey, puncturing soft tissue and bone fragments. I lay still for hours underneath his weight, and feigned sleep but his hands tore me open in rough indifference.
This wolf, this haunting wolf only led to more.
They stick to their pack and share bad habits.
I knew more wolves after that, one in particular who liked me quiet and depleted. Who put his hands everywhere and looked me in the eyes way too much.
They all leave me the same way.
Laying on the living room floor devouring oxygen at mass speeds. I dont eat for days and the world always spins rapidly beneath my closed eyelids. I read about poets quite often and wonder if one day I will somehow be admired for these scarred wrists and frail breaking bones.
I doubt it.
Mother screams 'move on'
and I say 'I cant'
but she wont hear it.
She doesnt accept failure.
Dear mum,
Please dont leave me in the room alone with sharp objects.
I am limp and dying inside.
I feel as if I will always be running from something.
twirling before his new years party:
[which was filled with drunken men telling me to refill their brandy glasses]
"slut"
I just need an outlet. Help me.
Aside from everyday people, old school peers and drunken men, showers also mock me.
I scrub and scrub and stand constantly under the water and can never feel clean enough...
and worst of all
I can never get their smell
mostly his smell off of me.
I just keep telling myself
its all in my head.
In the year 2007 I have:
showered 17 times
washed my clothes 9 times
washed my hair 10 times
it will never go away.
I have never learned to ask for help. Ive been so sad for so long and its getting to me.
I am in a constant tailspin, an awful descent.
Someday, somewhere it has to end.
It has to end.
It has to go away.
Someday I will write in ultimate past tense.
Someday I will be able to write that I once knew a wolf.
One who left scars with his claws and bruised my wrists.
He would whisper things in my ear, kiss me with his jagged teeth and tell me no one would ever own me but him.
I did the unthinkable. I cried. I cried so much as I cleaned my sheets. His fingers were always cold and his breath was hot and I seemed to learn silence and compliance quite quickly.
The predator would fall upon the throat of his prey, puncturing soft tissue and bone fragments. I lay still for hours underneath his weight, and feigned sleep but his hands tore me open in rough indifference.
This wolf, this haunting wolf only led to more.
They stick to their pack and share bad habits.
I knew more wolves after that, one in particular who liked me quiet and depleted. Who put his hands everywhere and looked me in the eyes way too much.
They all leave me the same way.
Laying on the living room floor devouring oxygen at mass speeds. I dont eat for days and the world always spins rapidly beneath my closed eyelids. I read about poets quite often and wonder if one day I will somehow be admired for these scarred wrists and frail breaking bones.
I doubt it.
Mother screams 'move on'
and I say 'I cant'
but she wont hear it.
She doesnt accept failure.
Dear mum,
Please dont leave me in the room alone with sharp objects.
I am limp and dying inside.
I feel as if I will always be running from something.
twirling before his new years party:
[which was filled with drunken men telling me to refill their brandy glasses]
"slut"
posted by Ischelle at 6.1.07
17 comments
