it was the perfect fit.
you screamed that
i should get over it.
get over the trauma
that has changed the
way i live my life.
tell me how. tell me how
to get over it all. tell me
again why i shouldn’t
write about all this pain.
teach me the lessons
when empathy does
not live inside of you.
bittersweet friend,
you say to me that
although we don’t
talk anymore, you’re
there for me.
a friendship goes both ways,
and it seems that you’ve
forgotten about the times
you tried to erase my pain.
my darling friend,
must i remind you about
all the times you projected
yourself onto me. you wore
the mask to hide your own
disasters and failures.
you hid it all behind such beauty.
t.w. : bullying
bully.
bully
bully
bully
when all you think is about yourself
not caring who you hurt
all for your gain
twisting bodies
hurting hearts
mending minds
bully.
when depression isn’t a thing to you.
it’s stupid, according to you.
god heals, according to you.
when you say how pretty an idea is
and laugh behind their back.
the idea is childish, according to you.
mother.
fucking.
bully.
i once had a friend who was in love with a
guy and the beast made sure to rip them
apart. the guy believed all the beast's lies.
and on her very special day he tore up
her heart, into tiny shreds, her heart
made into confetti.
all
because
of
the
bully.
it’s been more than ten years
and the girl is still broken.
it’s been more than twenty years
and the beast is still a bully.
the congregation screams
holy to your voice, not
to your anointing.
- here lies your pride
brothers and sisters in christ, your
lord savior, you say. and here laid
up on this altar are all the fallen
girls, sisters, who have followed
your footsteps. here laid up on
this altar are all the rebels that
you call heathen. here laid up on
this altar are the beasts who
grew up to be like you.
- a curse without lineage
and the not-turned charming
beast took their words like
daggers to my soul, leaving
wounds fleshed open for
everyone to take advantage of.
this time though, i stitched myself
up, walked away, and never came
back. i refused to be the next victim
that laid at their altar to sacrifice.
t.w. : physical abuse
are you a firefighter now?
do you still ease the fires you
create between a woman’s legs?
you have such fiery intent.
remember when two different people
on two different days came up to me,
and told me they saw you with other girls?
mr. motel hotel 2.0 with she, and them,
and me, and her, and me, and she
and i was full of fucking rage.
not
this
shit
again
found out that what you really wanted was a baby
and you fueled with fire since i didn’t want any.
remember when you pushed me and grabbed me,
choked me against the gate?
then
on
my
birthday
you
said
you loved me
and you gave me roses.
the red ones.
if you paid attention,
then you would’ve realized
i
fucking
hate
roses
just like i hated you and everything
you tried to put me through.
did your dream come true? are you a firefighter now?
or do you still cause the fire and try to burn every
woman down?
you tried
b u r n i n g
me down
not knowing
you were
fucking with a
g o d d e s s
you used words like
“make love” and “forever.”
yet, we both knew
you never loved us
and this fire was
leading to an explosion.
in choking me, the bursting
of your fire turned into words
into hate into bitterness into
the fury i will never ever forget.
i still remember the exact
gate you choked me into under
the queensboro bridge.
- still seeing smoke of the once burned bridge
i screamed fire fire
feeling heat radiate
through all my skin
years later when you
went looking for me
and all you found
was a woman who
overtook her power
and extinguishes
anyone who tries to
burn her alive
t.w. : gun violence, drug abuse, and homophobia
i had promised my mother and myself that i wasn’t
going to talk about that place or the monster.
but if i don’t,
then
i’m
not
healing
and my writing?
my writing is the healing i need.
the monster is dead.
quite l i t e r a l l y .
i’m not scared of the monster anymore.
the monster cannot come out
of his grave to try and shoot me.
a g a i n
you see..
the monster isn’t about some asshole that i dated.
no the monster was supposed to be a father figure.
the monster considered everyone his sons and daughters.
but when did fathers talk bad about their daughters?
when did fathers tell people their daughters secrets?
when i told him in a state of vulnerability.
looking for love and peace and freedom from my own
demons
that
haunt
me
every
single
day
when did fathers try to kill their daughters?
over
an
opinion
the monster dressed in priest clothing.
the monster who spoke bad about everyone.
the controlling monster.
the vicious monster.
the fuckedupdontknowhowtobeafather monster.
the self-righteous monster.
a week before i heard news about the monster,
i was soaking in my agony
and in my mind i asked for justice.
justice for the pain the monster inflicted
on me,
on my friend,
on my family.
i wonder who heard my cry for justice.
because the monster died
from a heart attack.
for when he looked for me to gun me down,
i felt my heart ready to explode.
fathers
shouldn’t
kill
their
daughters
aren’t fathers supposed to be loving and protecting?
and yet a monster is still a monster.
karma has a way of working
and doing it’s due diligence.
for every time that you
prophesied someone
would die, life took away
a year from you quickly
at a time.
you said that for every
finger pointed, four
fingers pointed back.
you didn’t pull the trigger but
a piece of me died that day.
these are your sermon’s themes with no biblical meanings attached to them:
me being a lesbian and having tattoos that would spill ink into my ribs.
her little white lines and the abuse from her father.
stripping away the gayness out of a young man.
with all of this and more, would
god rejoice in all the spiritual
deaths you held in your hands?
where is his love? for i cannot
find it sitting here in the church
pew on this lovely sunday afternoon.
with your death, i found
my peace. for i know that
families will not be
destroyed nor prosecuted
by your double-edged words.
- the day i took my first breath
your holy ground
burns my feet
and i’m still walking
through the fire
- survivor
her name is chaos.
because
she
fucked
up
so
many
lives
she was catastrophic with her lies.
dangerous with her eyes.
disgusting with her mouth.
selfish in her darkened soul.
chaos had her own agenda.
sometimes i wonder if she wanted
to inflict pain on others because of
the pain others inflicted on her.
i also wonder if i was supposed to feel bad
since
she
went
to
a
mental
institution
one day it all clicked.
the correlation between her lies and her mind.
her chaotic actions and ill logic.
the thin line between her rage and insanity.
she’s chaos.
and
she
wanted
everyone
to
pay
for
her
pain
s y m p a t h y ;
a
lack
thereof.
absent.
somehow it doesn’t run
through my veins to better
understand your actions.
i fought and tried.
in the end game, you’re the
manipulative mastermind
behind the breakage of
anyone who came in contact
with you.
i
guess i had
too much
hope
for a friendship.
i
thought that
you would
never
lie the way you did.
but you made me
see
that people aren’t
forgiving and so
you
tried killing me. not
knowing i’d miss
death’s visitation
again.
it’s hard for me to believe when you
say you didn’t know what you were
doing. as if, you didn’t sit in homes
and make people fall in love with
your poisoned tongue. and once they
ate forbidden fruit, you left a
tornado in your wake.
you chose to tell me everything
first. you could’ve picked anyone
yet you decided it was my turn
to be ruined by everyone.
it didn’t take long for me
to figure out that i was an
easy target, for he was
preaching about me on
his holy untouched altar.
let’s both act like you
didn’t play a part
in my killing.
- oh chaos, you have sinned
t.w. : suicide and self-harm
chaos has a sister named suicide.
the innocent one of the family.
the family member who made you ask
how
are
you
two
related?
suicide never hurt anyone, but herself.
she wasn’t only filled with teenage rebellion,
she was filled with the fuckups of her family.
i
think
it
drove
her
to
the
brink
darkness filled her soul.
cuts filled her body.
pills filled her stomach.
sometimes you try to mend wounds
that don’t correspond to you.
like i once did with suicide.
sometimes people just need themselves
before they need anyone else.
and sometimes people like suicide
need to move far away from their
own m a d n e s s .
she’s still alive,
in case you’re wondering.
you
look
so
much
like
her
and
yet
the
bloodline
runs
so
thin
- opposites of the universe
one day you contacted
me and we spoke for
a little while before i
walked away.
your happiness radiates
through your new life.
you soak up the sun
now and you glow
like the beauty
you’ve always been.
there sitting in silence
while you were on the
verge of dying, he told
everyone your secrets.
he had no right to ever
tell anyone what you
were going through.
- suicide is not a mockery
the witch’s name is jezebel.
she placed a spell on people
and made them believe
she was a saint,
she smiled
and laughed
and faked it all.
jezebel:
cruel.
malicious.
a
ruthless
bitch.
this witch doesn’t compare to
the ones i’ve read in books.
what she didn’t know was that
she
was
her
own
curse
every house she entered
was every house that was burned.
and every life she entered
was every soul she controlled.
till she met us.
it was like throwing the
wrong potion in her cauldron.
she screamed and hollered,
cursing me to the ground.
i looked th
rough her spellbook and
saw a bookmark on her next spell.
my mother, the lioness,
took jezebel’s spellbook
and threw it in the fire
with jezebel in it.
we burned her at the stake.
we burned the witch, destroyer
of marriages and well-kept
homes. the lioness made
sure our home wasn’t next.
loved me like a mother
cursed me like a daughter
took me for a fool
and the only person
who got played
in this part
was you
you’re not the type of witch who
does good magic. you’re the witch
that talks with demons and gives
poisoned apples for the girls to bite.
you’re the witch who causes divorce
and takes men to your bed while
wives cry in their sleep. they made
friends out of you meanwhile you
were making your bed. but now you
lay in your loneliness. you met a lioness
and she keeps this household whole.
oh father, you have once again
sinned. you let the witch come
in and like black magic, it ran
through souls. the demons have
found homes to rest. how will the
souls ever see the gates of heaven?
- jezebel the taker
you danced around
my mother,
chanting to her ear
run her out this house if she does not serve god.
kick her out if she no longer steps foot inside the lord’s house.
a church doesn’t make a
relationship with god.
a church doesn’t open
the flood gates.
a church is not a god
in which i bend my
knees to pray in hopes
of healing and instead
i come out with bleeding
scraped knees yelling
for someone to save me.
and somehow it’s not god
who comes to my rescue.
Welcome to Ghost Town Page 2
