Kick me while I'm down.
Beat me til I'm spitting blood.
Let me beg for mercy
Tell me I'm too ****** up to love.
Watch me fall apart.
Hand me the blade to cut myself.
Pour the ***** in my soul.
Tell me I'm too gone to help.
Tie my hair back,
As you push my fingers down my throat.
Watch me cry and hate myself.
Tell me I'm stupid to emote.
Batter me With misery
I'm just a *******.
I'm nothing more than a waste of space,
So treat me like it.

I texted you
at 12:30 a.m.
with a beer can on my bedside table,
asked you
if you remember
how my lips taste,
told you
it's been a while
since anyone's touched me
like you used to,
added
haha, I love you
to texts that
didn't quite make sense;

I asked for it.

That's what I keep
telling myself.
It's not ****
if I gave consent,
it's not ****
if you didn't touch me,
it's not ****
if I said yes when
you offered to make me less lonely.

I remember when
that boy you were always jealous of
told me he loved me,
I remember wanting to say it back,
I remember the smell of
my mom's *****
on his breath.

I said no.
Took his arm off my shoulder,
turned my head away,
told him not to kiss me,
told him not tonight,
told him he was drunk,
he was lying to himself,
he was just lonely,
he would not love me
in the morning.

I was right.
He told me
the last thing he remembered
was sitting down next to me,
he said
sorry if I tried anything,
I said he didn't.

My point is,

the boy I loved,
longed for,
still long for,
was giving himself to me,
his flushed cheek on my shoulder,
his hands in my hair,
my name on his lips,
and I said no.

My point is,

I, whom you knew to be vulnerable,
to be empty,
to be broken,
was begging you to save me,
my desire on your phone screen,
my scars in your memories,
my cries echoing in your eardrums,
and you asked for more.

My point is,

there comes a point
in every person's life
when they are given the choice
to do the right thing,
or do the wrong thing
and convince them self
it was the only option.

My point is,

I could have been
at your doorstep,
in your bedroom,
begging,
pleading,
naked,
ready,
and the right answer
still would have been
no.

My point is,

you did not **** me,
but you made me feel violated.
You are not a *** offender,
but you are an awful person.
I did say yes,
but you should have said no.

My point is,

I may have asked for it,
but that doesn't mean
you should've given it to me.

I would break every heart,

And break every soul

Then **** myself

Before you get another chance to see me again.

Dear God,
I know we have not talked for a while
but there are still some questions
I need you to answer.
I never doubt your existence,
but I doubt you are kind at heart.
Why did you give me eyes?
Only to see people suffer?
Only to see fathers
abusing their daughters,
mothers hurting their sons?
You give me eyes
and I want to scratch them out.
I am too tired of crying all night.
Why did you give me ears?
Only to hear endless screams?
Only to listen to stories of destruction,
of void and eternal dark,
of suicide, mother of all self-abuse.
Listen how smile turns into tears,
and silent whispers
becomes screams so loud,
and I can't stand them!
HELP! HELP! HELP!
Why did you give me ears
if they are of no use?
Why did you give me hands?
Only so I can touch the scars?
To feel the cuts on the inside?
To cut myself
with words,
not razors,
when I am trying to write.
Why in all this chaos of life
I feel like I was born
with my hands tied?
Why can't I stop them
from hurting others
and themselves,
from smoking another cigarette,
or from drinking,
until they drink themselves to death,
from going to bed with strangers,
out of pure disrespect for themselves,
from accepting the twisted judgments of society,
and carving the verdicts into their bodies and heads.
From taking strange medical substances,
and non-medical as well,
just to be accepted
by people that never care.
Why did you even give me heart?
Only to be broken?
By what? Love?
Bigger lie cannot be spoken!
It's just selfish desire
of touching the skin
of other human being.
Having control,
reserving their body
all for yourself.
Or worse,
sharing pieces of soul,
never to return,
when the cracks from within
reach out and break you apart.
Dear God,
I accept I'm inferior and so very limited,
but in your holiness and immortality,
why is there beauty,
laced with suffering,
innocence,
treated with hate,
happiness,
mixed with pain,
smile,
embraced with grief.
I understand
there is no rainbow
without the rain,
but give me some hope to believe...