I drink and drink the whole bottle of rum.
The voices that want to kill me I numb.
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Lips are Moving
Sometimes it feels like I’m talking.
I swear words are coming out.
But no one seems to hear me.
Maybe I should shout.
I’m crying out for help
but everyone looks away.
My feelings don’t matter I guess
So depressed I guess I’ll stay
Control
I like to believe that I am in control.
That I am independent.
I mean I worked my ass off for a degree
by myself.
I saved up for 5 years and bought a car
by myself.
I have a good paying part-time job
by myself.
I’m looking for a big girl career now
by myself.
But yet no matter how what I do
to make myself feel like
an accomplished adult
I will always be trapped.
For I may have a degree,
a car,
a job,
but you will always make sure
that you still control
some small piece of my life
so that I always have to come back
to this horrid place.
You will always keep me dependent
so that I can never escape,
even though this atmosphere is toxic
and is killing me; suffacting me
making my accomplishments
as worthless as myself.
The Mirror
When I look in the mirror,
I hate myself.
I cannot find one small thing
that I enjoy about myself.
I do what I can
to change that
but nothing is never enough.
I’m starting to see why
models starve themselves
just to like what they see.
Maybe not such a bad idea.
Go Out Walking
Every day I go out walking
miles and miles of trails that wind
hoping, and praying,
to leave myself behind.
I’m looking for a new me,
one I can face in the mirror
because now all I can see
is someone far inferior.
Sometimes I think it’s working;
that all the struggles are worth it.
I do everything correctly,
but nothing has changed a bit.
No matter how hard I work,
no matter how hard I strive
I’m greeted by the same person
at the end when I arrive.
No Title Needed
You may be able to dismiss my feelings
but you will never be able to dissolve my thoughts.
Too Many Times
Too many times in the course of history
woman have been told to sit back and be quiet:
the men are talking.
Too many times in the course of history
woman have been told their opinions are cute,
but it’s the men’s who count.
Too many times in the course of history
woman have been told to stop talking
because the men don’t agree.
Too many times in the course of my history
I have been told my opinions don’t matter,
by men of course,
simply because I see the world through a different lens
and thank God I do
because someone has to look out for someone
other than themselves.
What is in My Soul?
When you look into my soul,
and I know you do because
I can feel you there,
what is it you see?
I like to believe that there is
something beyond the darkness
I’ve been feeling for a few years now.
I like to believe I go deeper than that;
I am multidimensional.
Perhaps you see my passion,
surrounded by persistence and loyalty.
Perhaps you see the youth
that my playful heart feeds off.
Perhaps you see soft, gentle colors
that depict all the kindness
I have to offer to others.
Or maybe you see the abundance
of love and compassion that I am
just dying to share with the world.
What is in my soul?
What do you see?
Is there hope for me yet?
Or has the darkness smoothered my light?
Goodbye
I’m not quite sure
how to form the words
needed to say goodbye.
But even if I figure it out,
no one would hear them.
Everyone is too busy
to give me one last hug.
I will suffer alone.
Taking Things
I thought you were done taking things from me
when you stole my virginity 7 years ago.
But yet here we are, all these years later
and you’re still taking things from me:
My happiness
My hopes
My dreams
My soulmate
My chance of having someone love me.
I can’t have any of those things
because you ruined me; damaged me.
And now I’m so broken that
I can never have the one thing all always want.
After 7 years I finally realize
it’s never going to get better for me.
Fuck you.
