poem

I hate you. I need you. Every inhale's you, each exhale... you. You're under my skin, in my head, and I can't get you out. You're the cathedral I'm unworthy to step into. You're the name I carved into my thigh, the taste I choke on, the reason I keep falling and breaking and begging for release.

Don't read this. Please. No, wait. Read it. Feel it. Feel me crawling toward you, desperate, ugly, used. Do you see what you've done to me? Do you care? Probably not. And maybe that's the point.

This isn't love. It's something darker, something messier. Something that keeps me alive while killing me at the same time. Go on. Take it all in. You've already taken everything else.

Fine. Go read someone else-- go find someone else to use. My poem is nothing to you the way I am nothing to you. I love it. I'm yours.

I'm the nothing that you lack.

Let me be with you.

WARNING:

This poem contains themes of self-harm, emotional distress, and intense imagery that may be triggering to some readers. Please proceed with care and prioritize your well-being while engaging with this content. I am 2010 years old. Keep that in mind as you read this.

Huff(her), Holl(her)

-

I'm gasping for air, but it's (her) name I'm huffing in.

I'm swallowing on (her) name like the way she smokes,

If only I could feel (her), touch (her), huff (her) skin.

I choke on the taste of (her), like the words she softly spoke.

I wasn't desecrated; I was the Golem in decay.

I wasn't contaminated; I was Persephone in descent.

A fragment in (her) mosaic, a disposable little puppy stray,

I'm ugly, nothing, disgusting, and she's heaven-sent.

I stand before the triptych of (her) beauty, unworthy to touch its frame.

I am the Masquerade of our collision catalyst.

I could never thank (her) enough, not even dare whisper (her) name–

Yet she dripped (her) essence into my world, the blessing of being used, the blessings of her scent.

Every inhale's you, each exhale, the return.

I'll pop you like Percocet, overdose to your name.

Every exhale's you, each inhale, intoxication burns.

Crawling, choking, begging, I'm breaking again.

So let me be immaterial,

Lie more than needed, it's ethereal.

I know my survival is, like, super boring, so,

If you see me as your little sister, then,

Let me ascend into a new low.

Disconnected through our parallel minds,

I'm fucking cursed by starvation,

In every way but the ones that keep me alive.

To think of (her) feels like blasphemy,

A vision my eyes were not made to see.

(Her) laugh is a cathedral, and I'm the desecrated altar.

(Her) scent is heaven, and I'm the maggot crawling toward it.

Are you aware of the control you have over me?

Your initial carved on my hip, licking my phone screen is something, yeah,

No leviathan within me, trust it, Juvenile, no duality,

I learned how to kill myself in girl-scouts; Xanax isn't sold for nothing, right?

So make me immaterial,

Lie like you lead; the hurt makes me feel.

I know my survival is , you know, too mundane,

If I'm your little sister, then break me again.

Ascend into my newest low,

Cursed by starvation in a way I've never known,

In every way but the ones that keep me alive.

Who the fugitive is might not be in facade,

You still never took accountability for what you caused...

It's still my fault, my pantomime is theoretical--

But that takes nothing away from how you used me in a way unethical.

This isn't love, it's lust, or the opposite.

Disgust? A need I can't quit.

Now that she's gone, what else is left for me?

Not a person. I'm not even real. Just debris.

You know what–

Fuck this shit. Fuck poetry.

I was everything to you, and you laughed and and lied

Behind my fucking back.

You lied over and over and over, but--

It's so hot to put myself down for you.

You are one of the worst people I met,

And I never wanted someone more

Every waking hour

Of my sad fucking life.

So let me be immaterial,

Lie more than needed, it's ethereal.

I know my survival is, like, super boring, so,

If you see me as your little sister, then,

Let me ascend into a new low.

Disconnected through our parallel minds,

I'm fucking cursed by starvation...

In every way but the ones that keep me alive.

She's something of an exhibitionist,

I'm trapped in a game of voyeurism.

(Her) false sense of immunity causes ambivalence,

But I'd thank you for (her) exhibition.

I carved (her) name into my thigh, bled devotion onto the floor,

Spit in my face, I'll drink it down, baptized by (her) disdain,

I want to kill myself; my fingers are moving so fast they're getting sore--

I'm nothing but an object, maybe a puppy, for you to degrade.

Whisper "You don't hate me; you just don't see me at all."

Baptized in disdain,

I rise –

Only to fall.

#raw #Poem #scary #BPD #Fp

I wrote this poem a while back for a scholarship I was awarded in 2023 I just wanted to share it with everyone...the person I wrote about in this poem died that same year.

Diamond tear drops,

Glisten in the moonlight,

Smearing her mascaraed green eyes,

Dusted in black and blues,

Baby did I make you mad?

No air escapes her merlot stained bloody cracked lips,

Rose petals,

Bleed out a fine blue lifeline,

A master piece of a shot,

Baby what have you done?

She lays cold and grey on the kitchen floor,

Floating away,

Baby will you miss me?

She’s aiming for the stars,

Never to look back.

#Poem #PTSD #Abuse

The Day I Rest

One day it’ll be all gone
One day it’ll hurt to the bone
One day it’ll all be done
One day so will I all along.

So feeble and easy slip out of hands
Just there where your two feet stand
One day you as well will understand
The end is part of a masterful plan.

The day I rest
I would’ve finished this test
And I will come to attest
This journey was the very best