Sometimes writing poems let's me forget about the huge sums of debt I'm accumulating while at college
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.
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.
You may be able to dismiss my feelings
but you will never be able to dissolve my thoughts.
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.
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?
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.
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.
If life were like an old VCR Tape
you could rewind and dub over the rape.
Today I will tell you the story
of a delicate rose who’s life
did not turn out as planned.
The Rose was planted in a garden
with hundreds of other roses.
Of course, she was not the prettiest.
She was plumper than the others
had a blemish or two on her petals,
and had a few extra thorns
to keep herself safe,
yet she believed in the same dream
as all the other roses:
that for someone she would be enough.
The Rose had spent many waking hours
hoping and dreaming of the day
when just the right person would
come along and choose her.
She wouldn’t allow herself to be picked
by just anyone walking by.
She wanted to be picked by someone
who would love her,
cherish her, adore her,
and take care of her until
her final day because, after all,
you can only be picked once.
She was fiercely determined to have
this dream come true more than any
other she had ever had.
But one day, a stranger came along
and right away she knew that he
was up to no go. He smelled of death.
She prayed as he began to slowly
examine each rose around her
that he would pick someone else
or hopefully, none at all so that
she and her neighbors could
all have their dreams fulfilled.
Unfortunately this evil stranger
set his devastating eyes on her.
Despite her begging and pleading
to be left alone, to not be picked,
he yanked her from the earth
aggressively, and against her will.
When the stranger picked up The Rose,
he was pricked by many of her extra thorns
and threw her aside with disgust.
Sadly, The Rose was left plucked
and tossed to the side of the path
But still The Rose hoped that maybe,
someday, the right person would
come along and still be able to love
a rose that has already been plucked.
Alas, each day newer, kinder strangers
came into the garden and stepped over her
in search for a flower that
still had yet to be plucked.
The Rose continued to hold on,
holding in her heart a belief
that a truly good person
would come along and see
all the beauty she had to offer
to the world, even though she
had been damaged against her will.
One day, shortly after,
a man walked into the garden.
In The Rose’s heart, she knew with
almost as much certainty about this man
as she had had that the stranger that
had picked her was here to bring trouble,
that this new man was the one
she was intended to spend her life with.
This was the man who would take care of her
and appreciate her for the rest of her time.
He walked kindly through the flowers
and respected each and every one.
When he came to the Rose, simply
tossed aside, he bent over to pick her up.
The Rose’s heart beat with excitement
thinking that maybe, just maybe
she could still find happiness
and her dream could come true.
The man gave the rose a pitiful look
and said ” What a wonderful rose.
If only someone hadn’t already plucked you.
I only want a rose that I can pick for myself.”
With that, he laid the rose down delicately
amongst the other flowers
and picked a fresh, beautiful flower nearby.
The Rose’s heart fell.
She knew that this man here today
was her destiny: if only he had come
a week sooner, before her tragic event.
Then maybe, just maybe, life could
have worked out in her favor.
Instead, she lays amongst dirt and roots,
hidden by flowers still full of life and hope,
withering away to dried leaves and petals
waiting for the life to leave her worthless body
hoping that maybe in her next life
things will turn out better.
Life is a movie
that everyone wants to see.
But like a movie,
it has spoilers
and people further along
in the movie
can’t keep their mouths shut
and ruin your ideas
and thoughts
and plans
and hopes.
So if you know the movie
won’t end how you want,
why bother to keep watching?
It’s ruined in a way
you can never undo.
