15 years and I’m still the same 

Funny how someone can say something out of anger that trigger a moment from 15 yrs ago that you thought you’d buried so deep. “If you wanna dress like a slut, then that’s what I’ll treat you like”…slut.

15 yrs later the words cut deeper than when said the 1st time as a “man” held me down on the dusty wooden floor. Difference is then, I thought I deserved, thought that had I just worn a different jeans, or forgone the ever popular ripped jeans for my usual pair of sweat pants or basketball shorts and I wouldn’t have been there, in that moment with a “man”three times my senior ripping away at my precious virginity.
Here I am, 15 yrs later, thinking I’m so much stronger because I NEVER allowed anyone to label me a “Rape Victim”. Because I never stopped once to point fingers or yell from my soap box about it. Just bottle it down.
I was wrong. So very wrong. Tonight a man, who thought was my entire world muttered the VERY SAME WORDS that instantly sparked oxygen deprivation. I went from being so proud and so strong, right back to being the same 15yr old girl walking home blood staining my jeans mixed with the urine I released from the fear. Every step on that walk home, weighed down by the pain of my torn vagina that throbbed with every step and the fear that came with every car passing, further heighten my anxiety and brick by brick I closed myself away.
Tonight that happened again. Merely words. “If you wanna dress like a slut, then that’s what I’ll treat you like”, spoken in a drunken anger but very much so released by a sober tongue. All sparked from an Instagram picture in which he was present when taken, look closely and you can see him there, kissing my forehead, proud to be with the “slut” in the green romper.
Maybe it was unwritten that I was to only be “his slut” but one none the same? For months now I thought I was something of a treasured gem. Something he proudly and lovingly wanted….but I’ve been reduced to the very same title that was spoke from the mouth of my rapist 15yrs ago.

A slut

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Fine lines of white powder, nose bleeds to show the shame

Have you ever just stared at someone and just KNEW that they belonged to you. Not physically but more on the level of a connection of souls so colorful that not even the darkest palette could drown out. Life works in the absolute worst ways. Hang on to what doesn’t belong to you and you’re empty handed, let go and know that a large part of you dies. How can you ever be joyous knowing that such a big piece of you is such a small part of them?? Insane is what it is. But isn’t all of man kind a bit crazy? 

Missing you is a craving. Something deeper then I ever thought I could go. It’s like climbing to the highest peak only to pray that there’s more. Attempting to reach the top, reaching for the promises of a elevation that only the strong willed deserve; when the reality is there’s nothing more.

Not for you. Much like seeing the world you desire but not deserving a single moment in it.

I crave you, like a addict to the needle, waiting for my next fix. The end result is cold sweats in my room hating the the details that brought me you.

Walk into the eye of the storm

I want nothing more than to be battered in your storm. Entrap me in the violent winds that escape from your lungs! The venom laced words thrown at me with Zeus like strength should hurt but they don’t. I just wipe the crimson liquid with a smile. I was born for the rage that powers your chaos. Anger can’t break the surface of your powerful storm, you make the word sound like child’s play.
It’s you, your emotions often hidden. You’re extraordinary beyond human knowledge and you’re trapped. So you explode. Like all great things you cannot be contained.
Never before have I been lured by such a man. Never before have I sought out such a storm, but now I embrace it with open arms.
Drown me in your fury, at least then I’m drowning in you!

Fingerprints upon my spine could never be mine…

Sometimes I like that he’s gone, the four hours that separates me from the warmth of his skin can grow to be unbearable. It’s like slow punishment to watch the seasons change without him. Just when I’m ready to say I don’t want this anymore, words are exchanged to awaken my inner longing for his touch.
The best thing about him being gone are the butterflies of anticipation. The warmth I feel the grows in my stomach and extends down. All of a sudden feelings of “he’ll be gone for soooo long” turn into “I can’t wait to get him back”.
We’re the perfect mismatch of intertwined souls. He’s winter and I’m summer, his insecurities are the parts of life where I excel, and vice versa.
The shocks sent thru my body at the thought of his finger tips on my spine surely shatter me from the core. It’s nothing like before. It’s new and raw, not filters just pure.
And just when I think I’m ready to give up, I’m swiftly reminded of the million reasons why I fell in love with his touch!!

When the bleeding ends

It hurts like hell for the moment
Like the slow deep burning shaking me down to my core. The center of me where I intertwined with you that fall day. It’s like the roots of my soul have been hacked away with a dull rusty blade, all while you wait for me to bleed. Apart of me begs for you to stop! How can’t you see the pain you’re causing? How can what’s so deeply rooted for me barely scratch the surface for you?
Or is it that thick layer of skin you’re in? Is it that you’re too cool, too smooth, too deeply centered in self to ever let this immigrant girl shatter your essence like the waves on the rocks? Or……Could it be that you’re just as pained as me?
Nevertheless the pain lingers. Strong at first, from the stab of the words the flashed upon my screen. Each terrible letter letting me know that yet again it won’t be me. Then slowly it lessens. Is it that I am robotic. Can you see the pain? Actually place your finger onto where my soul begs for you to want me too?
Probably not, because to you, I’m just too fucked up. The aftermath of what is left when you’re not good enough for Ivy league trash, but good enough to have my forbidden orifice slashed by the need of a strange man. Yeah I’m just too fucked up.
Yet not too fucked that the pain doesn’t sit in the pit of my stomach. I find myself staring at the mirror looking for a sign that it’s clearly you and not me. But no.
It’s me….
Just wanting you
Because believe me darlin’, you’re fucked up too….

When it all settles down I suppose….

It’s a lonely day when you finally realize you’ll never be “in”. No matter how many days or weeks spent together. How many “I love you’s” get exchanged, I’ll never be in. When things get tough, I’ll always be the first to go. Casted aside like a toy forgotten. Maybe I’ll be there when life just isn’t so crazy. But I’ve never been much of a gambler. If we always wait for the perfect time then we’ll always be wasting time. Life happens in the moments we don’t plan

Can we get much higher??

Why is evaluation of spirit so foreign to mankind if it’s not achieved through the conventional intuition of church? Isn’t “God” all encompassing, shouldn’t growth be achieved in more ways than one?

Before I am executed verbally by those who read this, I use quotations in the way not to take away anything from the name you choose to identify such a powerful presence by but for me, a name is something I use to identify an object. Something I can see and place hands on, hold and keep to myself. Example, my favorite all time sweater, which yes I have named, Snugglesby. Now I can hold it, wrap myself up on cold days, or when I feel like crap. Snugglesby is mine and mine only. But the power being located in the Most High, is far too power to be understood and labeled with just a name. For me, and let me emphasis that, again, this is MY belief, this power is FAR too large for me to stuff it into one name. I choose to believe the spirit of this Being is all around me, found in the trees, the grass, the air, everything. Not to be confused with a polytheistic view, that’s a rant for another post, believe me!

Why can’t I choose to grow my spirit overall and live by the fact that I want my soul to be fed, and my overall essence challenged for the better. I have sat through church services and I found myself wishing I was anywhere else by the confines of that religious sanctuary. I enjoyed the over-all interaction of meeting new people, and hearing someone else’s interpretation of the Bible. And for me, that it exactly what it is. An interpretation done by a preacher or priest who was learned from someone else, who went to some school to be taught by some professor, and so on and so forth….

Really in today’s society where everywhere we turn everyone has a new reality television series, how can we know the purity of the teacher’s heart? Would it not be best to twist the words of the sacred book into what best feels his/her needs? Wouldn’t it be more beneficial for member retention if I choose to sway my words to what my followers want to hear? Many can find the teaching of the Word to fit their life at the moment but if you’re like me, sitting in the row in the church feeling completely lost like it doesn’t pertain to you, isn’t it more important to reach those folks rather than those who will agree and “Yes Pastor, preach” at every single spoken word?

Each week people pile into a building to listen to someone give the Good Word. Some go more than just the once a week Sunday service, but do they read on their own? Are they challenging themselves to evolve much larger than the words spoken from the mouth of the person wearing the long black robes or shiny new suit. The quest for knowledge should expand farther than the hour service on Sundays.

I am not in the least knocking anyone way they choose to worship, and everyone goes for their very own reasons. I only saying that I am looking to grow and evolve through my spirit and my own journey of knowledge. When I am lost the ever knowing Power drops someone into my path to guide me to the right part of my journey. Some lessons are self-taught through my trials and errors. Other times intervention through the unknown is more than needed. I want to radiate growth from the deepest part of me, it more than surface teaching. Spark my thirst but don’t hand me the water, allow me to find my water and I’ll forever be able to hydrate myself….

I like the taste of blood in my mouth when he is knocking me out

I’m waiting patiently for my big “revel” I’m a dirty little secret wondering when your two worlds will finally combust.
The pressure I feel not knowing wether to stay or leave, it a high stake game of Black Jack and your cards are a stiff 15. Do you hit or do you stay?
Your answer will be simply voiced as the words I fear the must. The words you vomit clearly swollen with spite, leave the taste of blood.
A risk taker you are, you’re too far in to walk away but not close enough that you might just squeeze thru with a winning hand.
But what’s the prize? Does the winnings out weight a possible loss?
Who should be shamed?
You for leaving me in the dark for a select few to know or is it me?
Me for allowing the charade to continue. I feel ugly and unworthy, feelings you will never grasp. It’s not like you to see another’s point of view.
I hold you…us…me…very highly. More than I have with any other “man”. I picture forever with you and it isn’t so dark. But for now I’m thrown in the back. People may know OF the POSSIBILITY me but not spoken from words of your mouth. Only rumors.
An idle mind is the devils playground, and tonight tortured souls tangle in the forbidden dance.
“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone” you speak. I’m not asking for explanation, your choice of courtship is yours alone.
And here I ask you, to whom feels obligated or entitled to an explanation? The true question in that is WHY do they feel you need to explain yourself to THEM?
Hours turn to days and days into month and here we are creeping slowly upon a year. And here I sit, in my corner damp from the remainder of my tears gathering dust, praying the day comes for my face to be seen amongst the women you “don’t” entertain.
Actually I’m the dumb one. You cannot blame a man for his repetition in actions if you are prove unworthy of change……