You stabbed me

you stabbed me

you stabbed me

over

and over

and over again.

You twisted

and twisted

and twisted some more.

I died

over

and over

and over again.

And you laughed

and laughed

and laughed,

Like the blood that pooled

around my heart

was some sick joke.

I begged

And begged

And asked you why.

But you claimed

and claimed

and told me I was living a lie.

And sometimes I believe you

I believe you never

touched me

I believe you never

tore my skin apart

I believe you never

betrayed me.

But then I see the scars

And know

You did way more

than just

Stab me.

You did things

(terrible things)

things that I can never

write on paper.

You broke

my spirit

You broke

my trust

You broke my heart.

You broke me

You broke me

You broke me.

(And I will never forget.)

Crimson aromas

wake

tongue’s taste

for blood.

tooth-white enamel,

tinged;

foul, ferrous breath.

Caked on the chin,

frothing,

oozing with glut,

for dining

on marrow;

foraging

fresh flesh.

Wounds inflict wounds;

age ferments

the red seas.

Unstitching

healed scars for

bloodletting by leech —

craving affliction;

bleeding for

the bleed

of canis nervosa:

pain

eating

at

me.

I know how it feels.

more than I would like to admit

red skin

scratches

and dots of blood

crumped on napkins.

I know how it feels

more than I would like to admit

fantasies

of riding elevators

and feeling the wind on my face

for the last time.

I know how it feels

more than I would like to admit

helpless

hopeless

useless

undeserving.

I know how it feels

and yet,

do I feel?

to this day, i still can’t

find the right words to explain what you did

and the shit you put me through

what words should i use

to write about how, at age six,

i used to sit in the dark and bang my head against a wall

because then maybe i’d forget

about your wandering hands and the way you touched me

like you had every right to

what about when

you waltzed right into the kitchen

to ask my mom about

wedding invitations and my hand was inching

towards my fork

i wanted to drive it into your throat

cause all those years ago you took away my voice

i thought i’d feel better if you lost yours

and

if you were asking, no, i don’t wanna go to your fucking

wedding

i don’t want to see that girl’s father hand her off

with complete trust in you

i don’t want to see another person

trust in your lie

but it’s not like

anyone believes me anyway

i mean,

that’s how

it always goes.

It was that closet. The yellow door and red accents. That's the one you locked me in.

People today say I'm weird for not being so talkative, but you would know why.

That summer with you almost killed me. You're supposed to love me...

No speaking. That was the one rule. I couldn't speak. One word and you would lock me in that closet. Dark and cold.

After that, I never went back. I tried to forget it, but now? I have fears that someone like me shouldn't have.

The dark.

Tight spaces.

Speaking too loud or too much.

So thanks for that dad.

Death by a thousand cuts

has always sang to me.

It sings to me because I have lived that death and survived.

My love and I whittled my body away

until the lifeblood pooled on the floor

and my heart could not beat anymore.

As my eyes closed for the last time,

I heard myself say

I love you.

I love you no matter what you do.

You can bloody and bruise me,

tear my heart in two,

but I still love you.

I am different now

and have made a vow

that I will never allow myself to be

cut down again.

But some dark nights

as I walk the lonely road home

I find myself wishing for

death by a thousand cuts.

@mosquito

the crows smile. a murder, and two, and three, but the crows smile.

rain seeps into the foggy newspaper; of black nights and missing black women, sins blaring through the city; police sirens wailing, babies wailing, funeral processions wailing.

san francisco is on fire tonight.

the flames lick and lust, charred flesh and jealousy, the hijab cannot snuff out this inferno. but the hijab can speak. the hijab can incriminate. the hijab, and the convenience of a discriminated suspect. the hijab, and the death sentence.

neon lights, flickering, flickering.

he beams at her lone silhouette; a dissolving pill and beer pitchers, dazed slurring and torn clothes. morning, mourning, mourning; hangovers and unfamiliar genitals. there is only so much she can do. there are only so many tears left.

hymn, hymn, humming into the skull.

the cassock slips off the unholy shoulders; oh father, forgive yourself, for you have sinned. he is but a child; you, him. your fingers caress forbidden places, god is displeased. god is stoking his hell for you.

gutters, gutting, gutted, guts.

the city pours itself in; broken shoes, empty vodka bottles, filthy and cruel. sewage, wager on our doom, wages and the daily, we are crows crowing.

we smile. a murder, and two, and three, but we smile.

#poetry #poem #poet #prose #ugly #raw #church #destruction #sinners

.

I didn't need this.

.

Not from anyone.

.

And definitely not from you.

.

From birth she felt unheard.

Silenced unintentionally.

It ate away at her.

She observed the world through silent eyes,

only speaking when spoken to,

an unsolicted vow of silence.

Teachers would tell her parents how quiet

and well-behaved she was.

She never uttered a word.

She wanted to.

She wanted to scream from the rooftops,

so much going on inside,

and nowhere to put it.

She dug a hole, deep inside her oblivion.

She would tuck each thought,

each feeling,

away.

That’s what felt right.

One time, she couldn’t even ask to go to the bathroom.

The words just wouldn’t come out.

So she just wet herself, and pretended she didnt even realise;

despite it being so glaringly obvious;

a pool of wet leading to her,

sopping up her legs.

She didn’t want to do wrong.

Just sink away,

be ignored, no trouble atall.

Complacent.

Until she snapped.

Teenage years, saturated with an over-load of hormones;

her pit could hold no more.

She screamed, she yelled -

Still nobody listened, still nobody saw.

Her cries for help ignored.

Invisible to the naked eye.

Scrabbling for her freedom, her control.

She gave so much of herself away.

So much so, that she was nothing;

nothing else left to give,

no energy left to take.

Self-absorbed and selfish.

She returned to her shell.

A sugar-coated version of who she wished to be,

who she knew she was.

She felt she had so much wisdom, so many ideas and thoughts.

Her brain ran constantly, taking in information around her,

observing from the outskirts of life.

But she wasn’t living.

Crushed down to be who she thought people wanted her to be.

Caught up in lies, not telling the truth.

A web she built to hide away.

They will not know her, she is sure.

Not meant for this world,

not meant to be understood.

″No,”

was my answer. Without preamble, plain and clear and easy to understand. Sitting in the passenger seat of a truck whose wheels were too big for its body. Choking on the smell of your sweat and cheap body spray and cigarette smoke, engulfing and overpowering—like

the rest of you. And what surprised me most is that you were surprised at all, caught off guard by my response, devastated. As was my mother, as if she knew my bounds better than myself. But she wasn’t there when it happened. And I’ll never tell, and

you know better. But these aren’t the words you want to hear. These hard and nasty words, coloring you as the monster. And you tick back titles that just can’t stick, trying to slough off some of your trouble onto me, because

it happened. The back of the same truck, jeans around my ankles and a yellow jacket. Long hair splayed out in a halo, glasses fogged and tilted. Traffic sounds, a scream: the same word over and over

echoing off the cab, like my response to the question you just asked. Astounded, because how could I still love someone who broke me. Who found pleasure in my ragdoll body filled with fear. Who picked over my choicest bits like a man at market. So,

my answer was no, I do not can not will not love you anymore—but I know,

you never really listen.