Tag Archives: story

Questions for him

  • why did you do it? was it because I wasn’t your biological daughter? or
  • did you ever think how it would affect me?
  • did you think that I wouldn’t eventually tell someone?
  • what were your thoughts when you decided to come into my bedroom? did you even think about me and my feelings?
  • how is it that you only got 6 months? is that why you admitted to what you did? so that you would get off easier?  do you really think my childhood is only worth 6 months in jail?
  • what made you think it was “okay” to write me while you were in jail for what you did to me?
  • how could you do that to me, to a girl under your care?
  • I don’t understand how someone can do that to someone they say they “love”, please explain it to me.
  • what went through your mind while you were sneaking into my bedroom?
  • what made you start doing it? what has you so fucked up in the head that you could do that to a little girl who you were suppose to protect?
  • how could you put your hands on me? not just sexually, but also physically? how could you put your hand on my throat and lift me off the floor?

 

my life now, is a mess, every relationship I’ve been in has been wrecked by you and what you did to me. now I’m not comfortable with my body anymore or my sexual needs. it’s hard for me to be able to connect with someone on a intimate level. I can’t find anyone to talk to whom understands what I’ve been through and knows how to help me deal with the thoughts I’m always having daily.

I’m unable to feel confident with my body anymore. even after all these years you still have your tight grip around my throat. I have marks along my skin that have been put there by the dreams that you are in. when I’m finally able to get into a deep enough sleep that I can dream, there you always are waiting for me, to hurt me more then you could. it’s hard for me to actually wake up and escape your grasp.

the little girl I once was doesn’t exist, I don’t know who she is except for a little girl who needed her dad that was nowhere to be found. I was left with a monster to deal with everyday, I was actually afraid to go home after school because I knew that you would be there waiting for me. I don’t understand how you can do that to someone for so long, someone who you’re suppose to protect and take care of.

people always say “time heals all wounds” it’s been 7 years and I still don’t feel healed, yes I can talk about it to anyone, mainly because I’m used to it. I’m not ashamed this happened to me, I’m not embarrassed, I’m not shy about it; but I am angry, hurt, and upset. I’m really hoping one day I can forget.

Cutting

pain is too hard to carry. pain in your mind, destroying it. pain in your heart, hurting you. pain you can’t get rid of. pain that will keep piling on. pain holding onto you with claws. pain unwilling to let you go. pain keeping a too tight grip.

pushing the blade into fresh skin. pushing so much red rises up. pushing so much it starts tingling. pushing until the pain becomes numb. push down, cut deeply, move swiftly. pushing to numb everything deep inside. pushing until you’re unable to feel.

finally you’re able to breath again. finally everything becomes a little clearer. finally you have a clean mind. finally breathing isn’t a heavy chore. finally you can show a smile. finally you can be you again.

Scared Skin

I miss wearing tank tops while out in the sun. I miss wearing cute little sun dresses without having to worry. I miss wearing little shorts that go above my knees. I miss being able to wear whatever I wanted without feeling insecure about it. Without having to worry if people are looking at my arm or looking at my thigh. People are talking or whispering about my skin that isn’t smooth anymore.

Are they looking at me and giving me their pity? Are they thinking what could have happened to this poor girl for her to do that? I always wonder what people are thinking when I finally build up the courage of wearing a tank top at work when it’s +20 degrees inside the store. or when I wear a skirt that’s one inch too short.

I can tell by the looks on their faces that they can see them, they can see the deep set scars in my skin. They can see the pain I went through showing on my sleeve, the deep thoughts that was spilled out onto my thigh. The paint of pity is brushed across their face like heavy oil paint on a canvas. They try to give a reassuring smile but it’s not thick enough to ignore the sorrow in their eyes about me, they give a nod to say hello but I can see the shake of their head as they pass me.

When I don’t cover my arms or legs while I’m out in public I feel like I’m walking around naked. They can see my thoughts, read my mind like words on a piece of paper. They’re able to look into my past, see through my eyes in the present and know my future. I want to be able to be happy again and walk around like nothing is wrong with me anymore, I’m fixed, I’m all better. But everyone who looks at the lines on my skin know that I’m not fixed, and I’m not all better.

But now…

Hearing his voice use to give her a calming serenity, but now she can’t bare to hear his voice.

Looking at his face use to bring her joy, but now she doesn’t have the courage to look up.

Feeling his touch use to give her goosebumps, but now she pulls away from his grasp.

Kissing his lips use to give her butterflies in her stomach, but now she can’t help but to hurt deep down.

Holding him use to be the only thing she wanted, but now she can’t be anywhere near him.

Being close was the one thing she needed, but now she can’t be within 3 feet of him.

Loving him was easy, simple, and natural, but now loving him is painful, hard, and torturous.

Boys Will be Boys

Boys think it’s all about them.

Boys are allowed to do anything.

Boys can do anything they want.

 

Gils are supposed to shut up.

Girls have to take what’s given.

Girls do not have any say.

 

Boys think girls dress for them.

Boys think girls are their belongings.

Boys think girls have to listen.

 

Girls can’t think that it’s wrong.

Girls can’t think he’s not allowed.

Girls can’t think, speak, or move.

 

Boys are allowed to bug girls.

Boys are allowed to hit girls.

Boys are allowed to touch girls.

 

Girls are not allowed to protest.

Girls are not allowed to reject.

Girls are not allowed to feel.

 

Boys can do what they want.

Boys can do anything they want.

Boys can think what they want.

 

Girls can’t do what they want.

Girls can’t do what boys can.

Girls can’t do anything about it.

 

Boys are stronger, better, and smarter.

Boys are encouraged, accepted, and extraordinary.

Boys are curious, adventurous, and idealistic.

 

Girls are weak, unopinionated, and stupid.

Girls are silent, unable, and pathetic.

Girls are ignorant, disrespectful, and unfit.

 

Boys are allowed to be boys.

Boys are allowed to say anything.

Boys are allowed to speak up.

 

Girls aren’t allowed to be girls.

Girls aren’t allowed to say anything.

Girls aren’t allowed to speak up.

 

Boys don’t worry about any consequences.

Boys don’t worry about girls speaking.

Boys don’t worry about significant abuse.

 

Girls worry about not being believed.

Girls worry about being shut upped.

Girls worry about being rapped, abused.

 

Parents make excuses for their boys.

Teachers defend the boys in school.

Authorities believe the boys with anything.

 

Parents discourage their girl’s outspoken words.

Teachers give girls punishments with everything.

Authorities don’t believe in the girls.

Friday Night Cutting

She started cutting that Friday night.

She could have asked for help,

She was talking to someone on Facebook,

But she decided not to ask.

She told him she was tired,

She had an energy burning day.

She said goodnight, and signed off.

But she should have stayed online.

She went up to her bedroom.

She changed into her comfy clothes.

She climbed into bed, sat there.

But she wasn’t alone in bed.

She brought an old beautiful friend.

She laid it down on her.

She pushed it into her skin.

But with a singular quick movement,

She was bleeding again, something forgotten.

She hasn’t done this so long.

She wanted to desperately remember again.

But her skin didn’t want to.

She couldn’t stop the red tears.

She couldn’t stop the radiating warmth.

She couldn’t stop the red diamonds.

But it eventually stopped. For now.

She Feels

She feels disgusted when he looks

At her young women native body.

She feels his lurking brown eyes

Watching her every move, every breath.

 

She’d feel his gawking at her.

His stares make her feel uncomfortable

She feels tortured, trapped deep within.

He stands there in his silence.

 

She feels all of her imperfections

He is gleaming toward her flaws.

She feels her face turning red.

He is seeing every blemish.

 

She feels exposed, bare, and naked.

He can see her fat body.

She feels him judging her body.

He gazes at her constantly.

 

She feels ugly, gross, and revolting.

But he still won’t look away.

She feels hard-featured, appalling, and unsightly.

He keeps watching her every action.

 

She feels like she should leave

His stare is withholding her movements.

She feels bottled up and restricted.

His eyes, dark chocolate, brown eyes.

 

She feels the courage to look,

He looks deep into her eyes.

She feels hooks of his eyes.

He can see her million defects.

 

She feels his revolting facial features.

He can’t look at her anymore.

She feels relief when he forestall.

He can see who she is.