stories. stories. stories. give me your words.

i have to write and write and write.
everyday.

desensitized emotions.
colors dull and faded.

'this is mine'
grabs my face.
'these are mine'
grabs my tits.
'and that's mine'
grabs my ass.
'you'll never belong to anyone else except me, don't forget that.
no one will ever keep your blackened heart in a wrought iron cage like i do.
don't forget that.'

i don't want to be locked up anymore.

we laid under the covers with the lights off.
it was his last night with me.
all i could hear were the crickets outside of his window.
our bodies stayed apart from each other, i was shivering underneath the blankets.
my mind drifted off to a place where physical contact was accepted.
my eyes opened when i felt him change position.
i shifted my head slightly to get a better view of him.
curved muscles, long arms, soft skin.
i could see the line running from his neck to his shoulder blades, in between and around and back up again.
i wanted to touch that line, trace it with the tip of my index finger, feel his muscles twitch under the pressure.
i wanted to see his lips quiver and his eyelids flutter, body tensing.
i left my hand where it was, resting on top of my stomach.
i chased the tears away, i didn't want my eyes to be bloody mary red in the morning.


and this is why, no matter who i fall in love with or become involved with, there will be an underlying suspicion. i trust too easily, but i will never trust fully.
i'm always disappointed by the ones i keep the closest.
they think i won't find out, i always have my ways.
i always find out in the end.
and i guess it's not really lying if you don't tell me at all.
i can only blame myself for being treated this way.
maybe when he apologizes to me with that sincere tone of his, he's apologizing for everything he's done- past present and future.
i cannot absolve you, i cannot save you, i cannot be your refuge.
seek it elsewhere.
in a place with beautiful stained glass windows, 80 feet arches, crimson oak pews, bibles in the pockets, devoted women in hooded gowns.
seek it there.
i am not your savior.


you feed me sweet gentle words, twist my locks of hair around your fingers, caress my made up face, watch my eyes close at the touch of your hand.
how did i ever think i could go through with all of this?
it's not worth it.
not again.


you meant every word you ever gave to me.
you love me, you love me, you love me.
are you sure that you love me?
are you thinking about me when you've got her sprawled out on top of plush covers, as you wrench her legs open and force your way inside of her, and she's there waiting for you to make her scream and moan your name, let her desperate pleas fill your ears. or do you turn her over on her stomach so you don't have to see her face, you close your eyes shut and repeat the same thrusting motion, clutching her hip with one hand, the other pushing into the small of her back. do you reach up and grab a fistful of her hair, pull her head back, push in further, and just as you're about to come, whose name are you saying?
you're all the same.
i've learned deception and lies and unanswered phone calls, i know avoidance and shame and guilt. i've learned it from the best of them. but it's turned me into something horrible and ugly, something i never imagined i would become. it breaks me into pieces, delicate brittle pieces. i don't want to put them back together, and you won't be the one to do it either. no matter how you think you're trying to save me, rescue me, be my refuge.
you're not my savior.


i've been swallowing my anger, sadness, and frustration all day.
maybe that's why as soon as any sort of food comes near my mouth,
i just want to vomit.
i used to avoid writing about these things, because i never wanted those images in my head.
the one i loved sharing intimacies with another i didn't know.
my insides feel as if they're rotting, burning, dying to escape from my body.
but i'd rather create a scene and write about it,
than continue to follow a path of naivety.

every moment is just another scene.
you play a different role in each one, baby.