To Be Treated

You look trapped in your pictures,

You cannot exceed the frame,

He grips your side with a smirk,

You look down smiling at the dirt,

Let’s be honest, it’s obvious you’re hurt,

It’s obvious that what goes on at home must not be seen at church,

He’s obviously abusive,

And there’s a reason why he wants to keep your relationship completely exclusive.

 

You have like 2 friends, your two older sisters,

And when you need something, both of their responses couldn’t be swifter,

But you never say you need anything,

Even though you’re hungry for validation,

You need no other external influence to bring you to the realization-,

That his love is blisters,

He gets jealous when you talk to men at work…

 

Transactional communication coated with copious aggression,

He always has to teach you something to make sure you learn your lesson,

At least three punches a night,

Not a fight,

Because you never hit back,

You just wait for him to finish and you apologize for the slack,

Your face is perfect,

Too perfect,

Mounds of makeup,

Smile is overexerted.

Stories you gotta make up,

Wearing foundation at the gym,

A relationship polluted with glum and grim-

Representations of control,

The society advises you to step off the battlefield before the battlefield takes its irreparable toll,

You’re a glutton for pain, so of course you’ll stay,

He’ll eventually snap one day,

And crush your head on the wall,

Your sisters would be at your funeral crying at your call-

To not speak to your family about the throes of your fall,

He would run away…well crawl-

Into a hole to evade the police,

Your body would be left on the bloody floor with your name still on the lease,

Just because no one taught you how men should treat.

 

Lice

I used to get beaten in my sleep from emotional dreams,

I would jolt up in cold turmoil and try to rock myself back to sleep.

 

I was never afraid to wet the bed with the tears taken from me,

Giving substance to the memories of unsightly abuse,

My eyes had no other use,

But to give life to my imagination of cutting my oppressor into two,

Or three,

I was never ever afraid to wet the bed…with the tears that were taken from me.

 

Years would pass,

I would…I would laugh,

The memories would last,

I could not would not forget,

There was no space for positivity to fit,

Space-less pieces of meat and shit,

Forced into a giant head,

Tiny lice’s proclivities to my bed…

 

 

Once the decade touched,

I wanted to move, but too much,

I wanted to get better,

I wanted to change the proverbial mental weather,

That I’ve keep for years,

That I kept tied intimately with my fears,

I hated their stain,

I could see it every time I experienced pain,

I wanted to kill everything I touched,

I wanted to improve, but not too much,

I couldn’t lose the person I thought I found,

In the mirror of yesterday staying into the presently unsound,

I wanted to win,

So…I did.

 

 

 

Delon

She got into a minivan,

He drove off, like fast,

She looked at a million mini strands-

Of browned stained grass,

The outsiders stared into the van-

With dark tinted glass,

The little lady loosens laces-

Of her stained soccer shoes,

Ol’ Little lady making faces at-

Her trained boxer bruised,

She squeals with her tongue,

He slams on brakes,

Her body goes numb,

She jumps quick as she wakes,

Outside a dumpster on Delon,

She stands and her waist,

Drenched in dried white from what he’s done,

She searches around this place,

Screaming loudly with half lung…

I can feel the tension still stagnate in my legs,

I can still see the imprint of where the seat bit her head,

I can smell the pain on the top of her breath,

I call still feel vibrations as she dances near death,

I reach high into the sky parked beside the blue van,

Grabbing shards of myself to build a new man,

I stare at God for minutes on end,

He stares back at me casting consequence to sin.

The sirens are screaming the sirens are screaming,

The day has came down, the night now has meaning,

I turn to my right and see white red lights,

The cop sprung out of his vehicle and read me my rights,

I pray in silence in hope that God might,

Give me a reason to take my own life.

Fearful

I am fearful again,
The blaring music has stopped,
Giving attention to my screaming thoughts,
What if?,
One night comes,
In bleak disarray,
Sitting up in bed.
In pitch black shade,
I cannot take,
It no longer,
I embrace my hate,
I slake my hunger,
I take to town,
To homes yonder,
Irate, unbound.
Morals and mind asunder,
I kill the house,
I stab the tongue,
I teach the mouth,
I hide the young,
She screams and shouts,
Pant, shakes, dry gums,
She is ripe with doubt,
Forehead in contact with cold gun,
She knows what’s about –
To happen before sun.

Ropes,
Bed,
Blood,
Head,
Blood,
Dead,
Exactly what I said.

I am free,
I am fearful again,
What if…?

Doggy

To be replaced by a dog,
An inadequate substitution,
With no challenging dialogue,
A canine hired for platonic prostitution.

He cannot firmly disagree,
He cannot firmly encompass me,
A desperately pitiful pompous plea,
To force herself to get over me.

Poor doggy, beaten with thoughtless words,
Spoken from a harpy chasing birds,
To be stabbed in their chirping hearts and hatefully served-
To poor doggy,
The blood would probably-
Make the meat soggy,
I mean the beak’s body,
I mean the beak soggy…
Ugh,
To be replaced by a fucking dog,
I should go choke the fucking thing,
Fuckless.

No Choice

The impurity of my nightmares span far beyond anything I’m willing to admit,
I will not send for help, by text, at night…
I’ll just sit,
In bed and think about why the disturbing feels right,
A contradiction to personality that I seem to can’t get.

Maybe my brain sees sleep as a time to explode,
To resurrect the corpses of dead thoughts,
Along the red road,
And give glimpses of demons I’ve already fought.

Maybe me brain fears its own destruction,
Or relapse,
So it gives me consequence as kind of  passive instruction,
Well…recaps,
Of when reality was a persistent screaming beast in my overly sensitive ears,
It reminds me my fears,
Those that have harmed me over the pass 3 years,
I think it wants me to wake grabbing the cold pillow to my right,
At times beyond night,
Between two and four,
Flailing in darkness, the silent war,
…..
Ugh….I can’t wake…
My roommate…
Because he’ll ask questions in morning,
And I won’t answer,
I guess I can heed the warning,
That there is cancer,
In empty force,
Maybe this is just my brain’s prefered way of discourse,
Because it knows I have no choice but to see,
No choice but to listen.

On Bloody Floor

Bobby could not understand the beat of her heart, for it was weak,
Jessie could not mutter a word through her oafishly gapped teeth,
It was Bobbies job to keep-
Jessie’s heart jumping,
But he could not hear anything but a light thumping,
Bobby dived into her chest with jagged tips,
Grabs her heart and held good grip,
Mimicry, he helps it beat,
Faster impressing the tissue deep,
Jessie screamed from pain,
Bobby did not let go,
Jessie screams from pain,
Bobby did not let go,
Because death is scary,
Obviously silent, yet emotionally loud,
Three months pass, Bobby two hands in, Bobby cannot eat,
Three months and three weeks weak,
Jessie cannot hear Bobby’s beating heart,
Grip goes,
His hips bow,
His hands fall out,
Quick slips, No!-
She screams low,
She now beating slow,
Beating no-
More,
Two bonds severed on bloody floor.