I like how the city makes a girl
Seem so robust yet so fragile
With the bags under their eyes
Caused from stress
And the make up that's lasted since yesterday
They look as if they'd crack if you touched them
But at the same time break you in to pieces
If you so much as laid a bad word on their shoulders.

You were my first.  
You taught me how to play.
You showed me the ins and outs of love.
Equipped  me with the knowledge I have today.
Your breath on my neck gave me chills
as you opened up a new world of thrills.
Touch here
Kiss there
That look in your eyes
That feeling you gave me made me feel I could fly.
Your nails scratching at my skin
oh how I do enjoy this sin.

I used to bury myself in huge jackets.
I'd mope about and hate my curvy body,
hate the way my lips puffed,
my long hair, the way I was soft all over,
the way I was expected to shave
everything but my face.

I used to hate makeup and dresses,
girly movies and shoes and bobby pins.
I hated boybands. I hated pink things.
It took me a long time to realize that
I didn't actually hate these things.
I hated women.

Femininity was lesser. I was not good enough
because of my two X chromosomes,
because of my *****, because of my period.
I was weaker. I was stupider. I was
statistically less likely to succeed,
less likely to be important,
less likely to be loved.

These things weren't right. They were never true.
But it didn't matter, because nine-year-old me
believed them. My opinion didn't start to change
until I was thirteen and I wore a pretty dress
as a character in a home movie we were making
and I walked down the stairs and my friends
whispered whoa.

I began to understand then the power I had.
As a girl I was never lesser. I was never weaker.
Maybe physically, but that was more my personality,
and all those lies I'd told myself about success
about my importance about love
I began to reconsider.
I thought hey wait hold on
this can't be right, I'm not stupid, I'm not weak,
I'm not ugly and I'm not fat
and I'm not any of these things because
I'm a girl.

When I started to see myself as worthy of
other peoples' love, I realized I should love myself.
I don't hide my femininity away in huge jackets anymore.
I don't walk down the street fearful
of the people walking past who seem stronger.
Because in my lipstick and my cute heels,
I am in total control.

there are dimensions of time
sometimes entered
not always of ones own volition
a sort of hyper reality where the world
becomes a darkness with red lit shadows
It’s as if time slows down
so it can be experienced frame by frame
as if the consciousness has become
separated from the being
it is the slow decent into something unknown
of which, at this stage
it is unknown if the author will be able to
or even wants to find the way back
for there is a welcome in this wasteland
that makes melancholy love of unknown pleasures
where all looks are concentrated
fixed yet constantly absent
and on looking skilfully
it can be figured out
what terrible riddles
have been created in the head
those who know when and how it is
those who sail in memories
who are terrorized by the imagination
and who get angry with God
ask a question a simple question
which is always the same
as is the answer
an answer that resembles
the rise and fall of cryptic waves
that ebb and flow
scorching a shore of silent sorrows
lapping ferociously at the
arc of a whirlpool within the mind
whose decreasing concentric
circles **** one down
into an eternity of terrible beauty

Hateful tears slice my skin like razors in the bathtub
I’ve been hurt by the bare hands that once bound us together too many times
You were an angel to me and you loved me like a child
But when I come home and your breath smells like cheap whiskey you twist and thrive underneath burning skin belonging to a type of corruption only the Devil could endure

My bruised eyes are proof of your demons
My broken arm is proof of your demons
My always plentiful supply of makeup to cover your loving blue outline is proof of your demons
My battered body is proof of your demons

The pain doesn’t scare me. I accept it as my own.
I understand your need for attention and your need to be left alone.
I just haven’t mastered the ability to sense when you’ve been left alone with your thoughts for too long
Flashbacks of your own childhood-the ******* that your daddy forced upon you
The sound of skin tearing, the scent of blood. Your fathers voice. His silhouette hovering.

You linger in the doorway for too long when I walk in.
I look in your eyes; the **** videos play back to me. I know I shouldn’t touch-I remind you too much of your father.
Threats to leave me, swinging your fists.

Tomorrow you will say how mistaken you were-you thought I was your father you thought I was a monster but you know now that I’m the most intimate version of a mother you should know
Curling up, weeping your apology. Comfort me, hold me, you beg.

I know better than this. I picture my mother “Once and you leave him.” But its been 16 months now and i cannot leave a fallen angel.
I can’t bring myself to walk out because I know you chose me.
Distrusting; you chose me. You saw I had flowers splurging from my veins and all anyone else could see was self abusing thorns.

The blood from your knuckles soak the blood resting upon my face
It tugs and pulls and I bring you in
Your beautiful, tear filled eyes make me feel special
“I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I love you”
I’m sorry I love you.