Poem: I Refuse to be Silent (Trigger Warning)

My heart has been hung

like those in Salem,

my beauty turned into

a mockery & my love

put on trial for bewitchery.

I've been baked in cakes,

weighed like a bag

of fruit, rolled

with a rolling pin

to squeeze out

all my impurities

once for you.

Thrown off of cliffs,

been judged for my love,

hated for my thoughts,

& have once been guilt tripped

to stay in love by family

I thought once loved me.

So, when I ask you if you love me,

do not take offense or take it to

your grave. My ghosts already haunt

me, when I cry myself to sleep

because my demons have always lived with me.

Don't get mad when

I accuse you of my doubts & my fears;

its not your fault that my innocence

didn't stay innocent for long.

Cause my body has been used for portraits,

tied in binds of fear because of beer,

cause sometimes sober thoughts

have been the rotten candy that has

affected my heart.

I still can't get over how my body

used to get hit by my parents,

how their actions still affect me,

or why my silence is

still is there protector.

I regret not calling out on my parents names.

Maybe I would be normal,

my body would have not turned

bitter, & the slightest tone of someone's

voice wouldn't scare me.

Or the slightest touch of someone's

tiny push, grabbing me or pulling

me, still wouldn't frighten me.

Abuse has been my father,

yelling has been my mother,

cheating, lying, manipulation,

being used for sex;

& self-harm have been the names

of my exes.

The dark still scares me,

bedrooms still cause me anxiety,

my old house has rooms;

I can never step back into.

My old house has become

a vault of memories,

tombstones of people,

& junkyards of buried secrets.

My dorm's kitchen is a bad memory,

the old apartment has things in it,

I still cannot swallow, burn,

or let go.

There are somethings a mother cannot know.

The dorms bathroom is still

covered in my blood, the drain

knows my story, my old cellphone

can still recite, "Your fine! Why can't

you be fucking okay? You're fucking okay!"

So, can't you see; this is still why;

I still get scared when

people yell or push me away,

not because of you, your love,

or the kindess in your hands.

The slighest change in your tone,

causes my anxiety to rush,

the touch of people hands,

makes my sketelon scream,

my bones break, & my spirit

try to escape.

My scars are invisible,

my nightmares are embedded

in my skin, I still cry in my sleep

for the things my father has

done to me.

I still talk to my mother like

she never hurt me, I still tried

to make amends with an ex

that made feel psychotic,

to rip the staples out of my veins,

& contemplate suicide.

Because of him I cut my wrists

more in those past wasted nine months,

that I have ever done, living these 20 years

in this soulless body.

I was walking on eggshells

everyday, made to feel like

a basket case & a support

dog only there for his comfort.

Made to feel alone,

isolated from friends,

give all my attention

to fill his insecurities, use

my bipolar as accuse for every

fight & use his own jokes to

accuse me of flirting with an other.

The way sex turned

me into a lifeless doll,

I avoided it for 4 months

till the end but wandering

hands are the devil's toys

& his friends.

I'm still afraid of sex because of him,

not just because of him,

I hated my body for months,

& once a year before that.

I wasn't raped, instead my body

was touched in ways that made it disgusting

to live in.

Disgusting for my own hands to touch,

I wanted to rip my bipolar from my brain,

drown it with bullets, take a shotgun

to the head & drown it hennessy

to cover it in burgundy paint.

He ruined me, again I was ruined,

hands explored my body to put me in the mood,

my mouth said no, but my body said yes.

My mouth expressed no more than once,

but rape did not happen. Sex did not happen.

Sexual coherence should have not have grown from

the weeds of his hands with alcohol of on his

breath at night & sober horniness on a sunlit

morning.

I still ask myself is this my skin or someone elses?

Does this body belong to me?

My temple felt violated,

my treasure chest wrapped

in caution tape.

Cut open like an apple,

to destroy all my seeds,

skinned alive; so you

could show me I was

still gorgous underneath

all the crust of a beautiful

apple pie; you wouldn't eat.

So am I truly beautiful? Or is it a lie that lives on my now boyfriend's tongue?

I love my boyfriend,

who is at my side now

but loving is a war with myself.

Looking in mirrors,

learning to love my smile,

falling in love with my

body, accepting my mind,

& tasting my sweet lips,

to learn to love them

like you do.

I've called myself beautiful

because of you, stopped

painting my face with clay everyday,

jumped out of my shell

& learning to love myself.

Praying to a God,

I never believed in,

but the fears never

stop & the doubts

live in my skin.

The hate makes

a place in my bed,

rests beside me,

drinks my water

because your love

for me; is something I'm

trying to believe in.

Its not simple to believe

someone is in love with me,

loyalt is to far-inbetween

to believe I am your only Queen,

your only princess because

I've never been the only one.

I've slandered my heart

on concrete surfaces that

replaced my love, fell

into darkness & loved people

that never loved me.

I thank God everyday I met

the person I'm with now,

because I've once been

around people whose's

minds were drunk but

their hearts once spoke

sober thoughts.