Letter to my abuser

You can call me stupid. Call me wrong. Call me incapable. Call me names I cannot even repeat. You can spread your lies. Convince others. Build a whole army of puppet followers who all agree with you. You can convince a friend of mine. Turn someone I love against me. You can find the evidence that you need. Point out my flaws. Cast a spotlight on each insecurity. You can get inside my head. You can even break me down. Bring me to my knees, alone on a cold, hard floor, and you might think then, that you’ve won… but tomorrow, I will stand up. I will take another step forward, no matter how small or how shaky. And I will know that you will never get the best of me, because even as I stumble through this fucked up world, it is love I hold inside my heart, and you can never make...

Survivor Poetry- ‘Days When It Feels Like No One’s On Your Side’

  Days when it feels like no one’s on your side and you have to hide from your own mind and the twisted often too realistic thoughts that control you and push you and pull you and all that you can do is to pretend to be fine there’s nothing on your mind thank God that most people are blind to anything further past the smiling mask that you’ve crafted until at last it’s mastered and plastered overtop of the broken face takes it’s place and you’re safe from the world outside but too soon you find that the terror’s inside. and no one can help ’cause you can’t escape from yourself so you put it all away on a shelf in the back of your heart you don’t want any part of the sickening past but all too fast it comes back and attacks and it’s hard, you soon find to control your own mind these voice keep screaming at you all the time you enter a trance as if you’re daydreaming you keeping seeing pictures, but you can tell what’s real and you feel like your about to burst cause it hurts so much more than words can...

Survivor Poetry: ‘Unnamed Woman’

My mother cut out clippings from the newspaper with a pair of silver scissors, gliding them along the marble countertop with a swoosh as I cut my French toast into trapezoids with my fork. I never drank my orange juice. It left a bad taste in my mouth when I brushed my teeth and besides, orange juice did not belong to me anymore. It belonged on the list, ‘no longer innocent,’ and I hardly paid attention to the articles in the newspaper anyway but there was still no convincing him of that. There was no convincing him of most things that I tried and there was no way I knew of to drown out the tone of his voice over my mother’s cheerful ring. There’s a nice picture of you. [Ugly! Stupid! Fake!] My mother said. A nice picture of a girl that looked like me, running with one hand in the air and a white soccer ball in the net behind her. Blurry. The article below it takes up half a page and continues on C5 but I flip to C6 by mistake and I read about an unnamed woman who was r       d two nights ago in her own house by a man she (thought she) knew. And if you hold up the page, staring now at C5 and looking at the letters of my name in the light from the kitchen window, you’ll find the articles run together. The same black ink on the same dull white paper and that’s as far as I’ll ever get to reading the article today. Years later, I...

Survivor Poetry: ‘Cut Out My Heart’

I cut out my heart, leave it on the shelf beside my dresser, next to a box of necklaces and a tipped over frame. I don’t feel like bringing it tonight. I cut out my heart, leave it behind and replace the emptiness with a painted smile and pretend I can’t hear it crying- Calling all night in the breaks between the laughter, the moments when words fall away and silence seeps in and I feel the empty hole in the left side of my chest and I think about trying to forget about missing you. I cut out my heart, leave it behind where no one can notice, where no one can touch it, where it can’t feel arms wrapped around me or smell the hint of Old Spice against my skin. And it can’t see the way I look into his eyes pretending that it’s still there, inside. pretending that I can give it away, pretending that it already belongs to someone else. And at night when I go home, and wash away my smile, and sit in the silence of my crowded room staring at the plastic stars stuck on to my ceiling, It sits waiting at the foot of my bed like an abandoned puppy following me around with its tale between its legs Whimpering Until I make it leave the room And lock my door behind it, pulling the covers over my head Pretending I can’t hear it scratching at the door and pressing its nose under the crack waiting for someone to notice. I cut out my heart pretend somehow that it hurts...

Survivor Poetry: ‘Love’

The things he says as etching in my skin the fingers circling my arms around the wrist they sink somehow, without me hearing anything else. I have forgotten this girl, lying on this bed, was at one point me. I have forgotten that I know her at all, that there is a world outside this room, that speaking is to be heard. And I bleed. Silently. Into the sheets. but I know this only after seeing the dark spots left on the bright cloth in the morning when I am alone and I fold them under and over themselves ripping the corners free until they wrap into a ball I run through three cycles before my mom can find the evidence. None of this ever happened. Love, he says, is a compromise. It is a force he cannot fight any longer. Love is my fault. It is the reason. His excuse to climb across. Love is what he does to me. Is what he’s doing to me. Is what he says this is. But love, love is nowhere in this room....

Survivor Poetry: ‘Dear Psycho’

I just wanted to let you know: You swore no one would ever love me like you did- I ‘ll make sure they never do. You told me I could not survive on my own, but I thank God I survived my life with you. You told me I was weak, but you only made me stronger in the end. You told me I was stupid, but I’m smarter than I’ve ever been. You covered my mouth, stole away the sound, but I have found a way back to my voice- to speak again out loud. You killed every part of me you could, left nothing but an empty shell. But I brought myself back to life again, I clawed my own way out from the depths of your hell: I picked myself up off the floor, I succeeded even with a broken heart, I lived through the darkest moment of the night Rebuilt my life each time it fell apart. I swore I’d never love again, but thankfully I do: I love my life, I love myself, I love someone that loves me too. So, you might have held me down but you will never hold me down. And you might have thought you won, but you only won that...