I’m not the same girl
I used to be.
Then again, maybe I am
the same,
and it’s everyone
and everything else
that’s different.
Maybe I’m just not adapting
to the changes in my environment.
Maybe I’m still the
idealistic twelve year old
who read romance novels
and ate ice cream while watching Titanic.
Maybe I’m still the
anorexic fourteen year old
who smiled when the number on the scale dropped
and cried when it didn’t.
Maybe I’m still the
ambitious sixteen year old,
striving to put her life back together
and get laid before prom.
(Without much success, of course.)
Maybe I’m still the
infatuated seventeen year old
who fell madly in love with a geeky college boy,
only to get her heart broken.
Maybe I’m just
an eighteen year old basket case
who drinks too much
and smokes too much
and ***** random boys (and girls)
with all the lights off
because she hates her body just as much when she’s drunk
as she does when she’s sober.
Maybe I have changed.
Maybe I never will.
Maybe in the end,
however soon or far off that may be,
I’ll look back and laugh
at my complete and utter stupidity
and inability
to stop thinking and just start
living.
Maybe I’m already dead inside
and just waiting for my body to follow.

I don't intend to leave you all behind,
but I’m beginning to think I already have.

The river of the lake
flows so strongly
Night and Day it flows
soft when low thundering when high.
the river threatens you as you walk by
the river warns you not to fall in
you can never tame the river

You were cruel.
Your hands were cold,
Tearing open my legs.
You liked it when I screamed.
You liked it when  I cried.
Your laughter cut like diamonds.
You made me feel like trash.
You cancelled all my doubts,
With even worse doubts,
With nightmares come true.
You broke me.
You cut me.
You scarred me.
You scared me.
You ruined me.
You liked it when I plead.
You liked it when I begged.
Your laughter cut like diamonds.
A diamond in the rough way you treated me.
You broke me.
You smashed me.
You liked it when you destroyed me.

When I was younger I was very girly,
I wore dresses and leggings,
But never jeans.
I loved pink and purple,
And I loved sparkles and bows.
I was very girly,
But I hated dolls.
I drew on my sister's baby dolls with ballpoint pens,
Covering their foreheads with my cryptic squiggles.
I would strip my Polly Pockets,
And let them lay naked and ashamed on my bedroom floor.
I would take all the limbs off of my Barbies,
And rearrange them into disfigured beauty queens.
Fake people have always bothered me.