poetry 2

for the triggering ones. general tw

10.2.23

Suicide Song

You said you're finding less and less reasons to love me.
Do you mean it?
Well, regardless, you can help me plan my suicide;
Help me say goodbye to this world.
I'll prepare the rope while you sharpen the blade,
This'll be how I say good night.
You can be the last thing I see,
Glare at me through faux tears
I'll prepare my note while you give me reasons,
But the first on the list will be your name in red.

10.13.23

untitled

There's nothing for me to say in my defense.

I don't get to complain because I asked for it.
I told him I wanted it.
I gave him my fucking address,
I told him where I was going to camp that summer,
So maybe he'd come and take me.

I left my windows unlocked and told them to find me.
I let them send me rape threats and responded like I was into it.
I plastered myself all over Twitter like a fucking slut,
Like the whore I am.

Nobody ever did, but they all came close.

They ruined England for me, little kids for me.
They ruined kids shows and candy, and my bed and strawberry poundcake.

My mother told me once if I ever had a kid,
She'd kill me and the baby.

I don't get to complain because I didn't tell her no.
I never said I didn't want it.
She only apologized for making me cheat on my girlfriend.
I told her it was okay before I threw up in the bathroom.

I remember the color of her LED's,
I remember her hands, I remember her voice.
I remember the things she said
She ruined pools for me, New York City for me.
She ruined Catskill and snow, and dogs and peppermint in hot chocolate.
She ruined Christmas movies and To All The Boys: P.S. I Still Love You.

My mother told me to just tell her no,
But it's easier to do that without a hand around your throat.

I remember showers with my clothes on, crying until I passed out.
I remember girls selling their nudes, I remember coming up with prices for mine.
I remember my first buyer.
I remember him negotiating with some other sick fuck for when he could 'have' me,
Like I'm an object.
As if he wouldn't have his own life destroyed if anyone found out
Just what he was doing with an 11-going-on-12-year-old

Maybe I am an object.
Maybe I am only good for them.

I know I'm ruined for her, though.
I know I'll never be enough for the only girl that counts.