Stormy.
Today,
the sky was red and yellow
and it all but obscured the blue that I fell in love with
since i was born
and i realized that things have changed
so much
*growing up*
a storm is my home now
and i, the eye of the storm
spewing rain when the tears become
too
heavy
to
hide
behind the lining
of your eyes
and too “audacious” to be blinked back.
Born a girl, an absense of an enlarged
length of nerve ending blessed skin
makes you adorable when you are ^this little^
gazing up at the world with eyes ^this big^
with wonder
which will become an
“invitation”
for men to come take what they “will”.
At what point, tell me! tell me that age
-I whisper- since I cannot rage
(rage is a thing reserved for crazy cows and
hysterical ladies)
when did the world decide to take my agency away?
Without my permission?
(I guess you don’t need permission
to take away all future instances for its necessity?)
How did the world suddenly change?
And now, *hitching sobs*
*hidden tears running mascara down*
*panic attacks*
*rape threats*
*rape jokes that shatter my confidence of coming out again*
Letters to myself
letters to my grave
letters to every one that’s ever raped
take all my time now
I was groomed for this:
“To save myself”
But not with weapons
with lowered eyes
and closed legs
and long skirts
and roundabout ways
and giving up dreams
and excuses
to
cover up
“men”?’s”
“mistakes”?
A slip of their blessed skin
onto/into/over my
“body-like-thing”
*Note to self*
*How to think of your body
from some one else’s perspective*
and how not to “feel”
