My body my life?(Poem #162) 

I think it’s funny how it’s always my life, my responsibility and my body Until there’s a fetus involved then it’s up to everybody

“She should keep it”

“she’s too young, she’s too scared”

“that whore got what she deserved”

“look at for the prego over there”

They cast judgement faster their Instagram likes

Give hatred a winky faced smile than walk on right by

Glorify the body positively of a posted half naked in the right light

But throw shade on me when I am sitting here fighting for a life

I’m drowning in silence, as the two stripes appear

How am I gonna tell my father

Will it’s father even be around here

I’m screaming through my silence,

then my voice cracked and shakes off the fear the option to get rid of it seems the only thing that is clear

That is until I felt

The very next day; I threw up in the bathroom then turned and walked away

Is this my baby and my child or the worst mistake of my life,

Where’s a god when you need him,

I need to take control of this fight

Days turn to a week and my visions getting blurry

My belly starts to stretch, and needs to make this discussion in a hurry

I walk into that clinic,

confusing my tears for rain,

hold firmly to the table and for once in my life pray

Walking out of the clinic was even harder than walking in

I refuse to look in mirror

God where do I begin

All I wanted was some refuge

A helping hand at most

But what I got was hatred and silence,

so much judgement it slit throats

A beautiful baby girl laid down her own life,

I cut my own wrist because I was the little girl that died,

Society gave me no choice

But instead gave me a double edge blade

Told me to grab on tight,

Told me they would support me, do what’s best for my life

Then gasp in surprise as I was bleeding out

Tell me doll is this what pro-choice and pro-life was supposed to be all about.

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Your place as a man (Poem #155)

The systematic problems with heteronormativity and patriarchy,

Are not limited to the silence of voices of those who are not blessed with falling into those categories,

No,

They also create a world that limits and defines what it means to be blessed by living there,

It discounts part of a voice of a male activist standing on a street corner fighting for equal rights 

It muffles the screams for their brother and sister with questioning scoffs of how could they understand,

It is as if the heteronormativity and patriarchy hold all people to their roles.

No one can scream too loudly without their faith, morality, and validity being questioned,

As if being male took away from his message,

And being straight means he could never understand what it meant to be a thirteen year old boy hiding in the locker room too afraid to change because he was gay. 

You are he will never understand but that shouldn’t discount his voice. 

Allies and advocates come in all shapes and sizes. 

So just because he can stand in his white male heterosexuals privilege does not mean he does not understand what it means to have your voice shake because of a message,

Because society has a shotgun to his head from both sides waiting for the wrong words to slip from his lips and spill over. 

Believe me I’ve been there,

On the edge of standing for something I could never truly understand but wanted to save,

Had my heart tremble at words peircing my lips. 

So I want to thank you white heterosexual men who take a stand,

Thank you for grabbing the blade of a double edge sword this system has created to prove the point that it is not ok,

I see your sacrifice and bravery,

Thank you for taking your place in our fight to gain a voice for everyone,

 whether they be men, women, straight, lgbtq, gender nonconforming, people of color, white, and/or trans.

Thank you for taking up the fight,

And taking the place you can only stand as a straight white man. 

Your own story…(Poem #154)

There is something beautiful about owning your own story,

Whether it breathes magic of fairytales,

or fire of tragedies.

I promise you if you ask I will read some of mine to you,

Page by page,

Chapter to chapter,

I’m a pretty open book.

But my story is mine to bare,

And only my hands can handle the delicate pages the right way.

View my story like a diary,

If I open it up to share with you,

don’t take it take it for granted,

and rip the pages out at the seam

so you can claim that you “have this one friend that went through this and they…”

No!

If I wanted everyone to know my story I would have become an actress

Or hired a reality TV show to make a story of the shit show that is my life.

But I didn’t,

I shared it with you,

So carry it with care,

Take it out when you want to remember who I am,

because one day I will be gone,

and all you will have left is that story,

that memory of me.

So ask me to read a chapter from my life,

and I will tell it all to you,

because someday my chapters will end,

and my story will be over…

The end.

 

The reality of the “perfect man”(Poem #153)

I’m tired of boys telling me I’m worth it,

When they only walk away.

Because you were the 13th boy to lay hands on me,

with little to no intention to stay.

I guess I should be used to it,

hearing those ringing words,

“You deserve the world!”

Yet the world fell at your hands

Because even though you say I am worth it,

I still feel second hand.

like the canvas you laid paint on,

but you wish you never had,

because the picture that we painted,

though it truly wasn’t bad,

didn’t quite breath perfection to your life.

No the image was all too real,

not like the fairytales that I had waited so long for.

No my canvas has been broken, and ripped, and torn.

My edges are all rough, no longer soft and smooth.

So stop telling me I’m worth it,

that the perfect man exists…

Because the perfect man wants a new canvas,

not one he has to fix…

The right way (Poem #152)

I’ve always struggled,

to find the right words,

or the right way to show I care,

or the right way to speak about pain,

or the right moment to express myself,

or the right way to hide just enough of me that I don’t get hurt,

or the right way to fall in love,

or the right way to dance on eggshells for others,

or the right way to place my hand upon your face that you can’t feel mine tremble,

or the right way to smile so shyly that it looks like innocence but it really simply fear,

or the right way to kiss a stranger and make them feel like it means nothing yet means everything,

or the right way to not feel,

or the right way to say I forgive you when really the ache in my heart says I won’t forgive me,

or the right way to sit across the room from someone I love and tell them I am happy for them when my world is falling apart,

or the right way to say I’m simply not hungry when really hunger doesn’t come close to how I feel,

or the right way to say just enough that you will believe me when I say I am ok…

I’ve been training myself for years…

for the right way to pretend to be me,

but the right way isn’t working anymore,

and I am helplessly lost,

with no right way to go,

or no right way to fix this and move on,

and I am starting to curse myself,

because the right way used to seem so clear,

but now the right way is filled with the fog of tears,

the dew of sadness,

and the raindrops of despair,

even though the clouds are filled with emptiness,

it is still raining,

and in the wind I hear it,

saying that the “right way” is what lead me right here…

No one ever asked (poem #141)

1 in 5…

Why are people not more upset,

And jumping at their seats?

Why are we not screaming louder

So I am on not the only one who has to scream,

For seven years and counting

And since January 16th on…

They say that in seven year

My body will do a miracle

That every cell in my body will be made new

And every cell you once touched will no longer exist

So I sit here

Counting down the days until you have no longer touched my hand

But with each day I am reminded that you did much more than simply touch me

You took part of my soul

And that is something I can never take back…

Forget the fake that I trusted you

Forget the fact that I thought you cared

Because I thought you all cared

Yet for a month I walked around in fear

The fear that I would be called a liar and a bitch

That the blame would be put on me

So I took it

I said I cheated

And that it was all my fault

Because that is what the voices said

They told me I knew what was going to happen when I walked into that room

And maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much

But no one blamed you…

Not until they say the years flash before their eyes

And the tears stain my checks like ink…

No until I broke it was my burden to bare…

My burden that you raped me…

And to this day I have to live with the 13 pages that judge sent

Detail what he said were all my lies…

Why would I lied about this

Seriously when was the last time someone got robbed and you questioned if it really happened

You can replace what a robber took

Or fix wounds of an assault

But you can never fix me

Or replace  what I once had

Because rape it takes more from you than any man’s hands will ever grasp…

And it wouldn’t be so bad if this hasn’t happened before

If I could say I was the only one…

But one in five women

And one in thirty three men

Will feel the tearing not out of something they never knew they had….

The numbers are too high

These people shouldn’t be

People getting hurt

People just like me….