drag your nails across my back.
make me bleed out all the ways
those before you left me gutted
when they went without a sound.
tear away the tattoos on my skin
and kiss the bruises,
making them your own.
-if my body can’t be mine, maybe it can be yours
I hate talking about the things that happened to me. I hate sleepless nights, memories constricting my airflow, and flashbacks so vivid it’s nearly impossible to bring myself back down to earth. It’s been a year since I started speaking out about what happened and these are still the things my brain subjects me to sporadically throughout the day. Just. Like. Him. Continue reading “How to Write About Your Sexual Assault From Your Attackers Perspective”
I want to scream. Or cry.
But my voice ran away the day
you laid your hands on me
and where there once was a river of tears
is now an empty desert;
unforgivingly fiery by day
with a life revoking frozenness at night.
–How Could You Ignore My Begging You To Stop?
Be messy.
Be loud.
Be less than someone else’s version of enough.
Be someone’s idea of all that is wrong with the world.
It’s okay to make mistakes.
You are not here to please other people.
You are here to learn and grow for yourself.
You are here to discover who you are and
what you want in this life.
Don’t you dare let someone else tell you who to be.
–Fight Fire With Fire
