Baby.
You’re my baby, my darling, my lover.
My body aches for you,
My bed feels empty and cold without you.
My soft interior peaks out only for you.
You are my partner,
Nobody compares to you.
I worship you as if you were a God,
My God.
My body was made for you
To kiss,
To hold,
To grab,
To bend.
I am in my truest form
When I am with you,
My baby.
On sunny days,
I crawl out of bed
And dress in my finest clothes.
I walk, barefoot,
From my room,
To the kitchen,
To the front door.
My feet takes in and embrace the debris on the concrete.
My body reacts, but my mind takes it all in.
I keep walking.
The cold concrete turns into rough, but smooth grass
And my toes curl.
I keep walking.
The sun dances on my brown skin
And my shoulders drop.
I feel
Nothing.
My body isn’t of my own anymore
And my mind, blindly tries to take control.
I keep walking.
My tongue tastes sweet
And I remember days of baking and cinnamon buns.
My mom’s aura is felt
And I completely collapse onto the rough, but smooth grass.
My head feels dizzy,
My ears hear my neighbors rushing towards me and calling for help.
My tongue tastes blood as it has collided with my teeth,
My fingers and arms are going numb
And my revealed skin embraces the grass below and the sun above.
But all my attention is going towards the comforts my mom can only produce.
Twenty.
I am Twenty years old.
I have inhabited this Earth for 7,305 days.
I cannot look back onto my life without crying.
I have been through some shit
And I will continue to go through shit.
I still vividly remember crying and hoping for things to be better,
For things to change.
And It has.
As I write this, with tears in my eyes,
I am sitting on my black couch,
In my little apartment.
My cats, Logan and Lacy,
Are laying next to me,
Watching the show I have on my tv.
I still wish to reside within my mother’s womb so I can be protected from the harsh world.
I still wish several things could be different.
I still wish I could change the past and fix my mistakes.
But it helped me get to this point in my life.
This past year,
I have realized my potential.
I am capable of great, outstanding things,
I am capable of ruining everything around me with no remorse.
I enjoy my own company.
I enjoy losing my absolute mind and picking myself back up.
I enjoy chao, but I am starting to like peace.
As I start this new decade and enter my twenties,
I realize I am actively changing and developing.
I am taking the steps to take care of myself and those around me.
I can say that I do love myself and those around me.
Living is an art
And I plan to create a masterpiece.
The bare branches sway as the winter air blows through them.
My body cling to the blanket around me.
My pillow rests my head as my busy eyes watched the trees.
Leaves blow and dance amongst each other.
The wind whispers to me through the cracks in my window.
My unfurnished apartment lays still while my rambunctious kittens dash through it.
My body is weak,
My brain is numb,
But my eyes are fixed on the branches and the leaves.
Winter is here, November has arrived
And I think I just might die.
I don’t remember much from my childhood,
I don’t even know what my first memories were.
But I remember small things.
Like the movement of my momma’s hands while she cooks.
Like the paper airplanes my father made.
Like the vanilla wafer and cheese snacks my parents gave me.
Like the moment my father taught me how to snap my fingers and the moment he taught me how to whistle.
Like the phrase, “It has to be perfect.”
Like the taste of leftover cake mix on an empty bowl.
Like the feeling of fresh grass and concrete on my toes.
Like the nights sleeping in my momma’s bed when father would get off late.
Like the feeling of scrapping my knees on the neighbor’s steps.
I remember big things too.
Like the punishments my parents and relatives would give me.
Like the fantasies about running away from my family and never seeing them again.
Like the envy I had for my momma’s effortless beauty.
Like the cruel, cruel treatment of other students.
Like the early, unwanted sexual experiences before the age of nine.
Like the feeling of a blade against my thighs skin.
Like the pain of fresh cuts against jeans.
Like the first day I started taking medicine.
Like the nights where I would talk, cry, and beg to the moon because it was my own comfort and the only thing that would listen.
My childhood is a blur and I wish I could remember it,
But, I guess, it is a good thing that I don’t.
The moment my dad told me he didn’t love me
Wasn’t very shocking.
It was disturbing,
But also confirming.
Days before this happened,
I already had thoughts about how my dad didn’t love me or show me much affection and attention as a child.
He didn’t show up to any of my concerts,
He always backed out of taking me somewhere,
And he even showed up after my high school graduation.
It was bad to the point my teachers thought my mom was a single mom.
There were good moments and memories,
But he still wasn’t really there.
The moment my dad told me he didn’t love me
I couldn’t focus on his comments for too long.
I had to clean up my apartment,
Take care of my kittens,
Prepare dinner,
And go to work.
“That’s what grown people do.”
Mind you,
I’m not even in my twenties.
My dad prioritized his job before he would prioritize his wife and daughter.
My dad would make sexist remarks and told me I would never marry because I’m not submissive.
Mind you,
I am very submissive and motherly to the men I am dealing with.
But I am not going to be submissive to my dad.
My dad never saw me as his equal
Or his daughter.
So the moment my dad told me he didn’t love me
Was an weird moment,
But comforting.
Today, I decided to try making sugar cookies.
I’ve never made them before,
But I was craving the taste.
The first bite felt surreal.
I felt like I was in a dream,
A familiar dream.
The second bite felt refreshing.
I was transported back to that familiar dream,
With my beautiful husband and my sweet baby.
The third bite felt loving.
My husband’s lips were on my neck
While my devilish baby played with strands of my hair.
The fourth bite felt orgasmic.
My husband’s hunger and my baby’s beauty overwhelmed me.
I felt whole again.
The final bite felt mournful
I knew I would have to say goodbye,
So I gave my husband and my baby a heartfelt kiss.
As the sweet treat fades from my deprived tongue,
I realize I am
Once again
Alone.
And it was once again,
A near dream of a distant reality.
My heart is too delicate and full to be abused.
It is a soft child, new to the harshness of this disgusting world.
She’s still innocent.
I can’t stop her from loving and caring for useless men
Who can’t see her worth and potential.
Who don’t appreciate the pureness of her love.
But,
She can’t help it.
She thrives and continues to seek the man she will love
And marry until her last breath.
But,
My heart still ponders a simple question.
What’s the point of giving my all,
my bottomless being,
to a man who would only give me half?
I had a dream,
A dream where I was your wife.
Where your hands were on my waist
And my spine was bent
In your favorite position.
Your hands are glued to my throat
While I try not to scream.
I had a dream,
A dream where you were comforting me.
Where your hands caressed my hair
And my eyes filled with tears
That eventually slide down my face.
Your mouth is whispering sweet sounds
While I am spiraling out of control.
I had a dream,
A dream where you were killing me.
Where your favorite blade pushed through my organs
And my body was motionless
And weak to your attack.
Your body locked over me
While I slowly lost consciousness.
And it was the best dream
I’ve ever had.
As a child,
I would prefer to spend a lot of time alone.
My parents thought it was quiet odd
And would often check on me.
Unknown to them,
I was never alone.
The woman in the corner would be there,
Watching.
It scared me at first,
But over time,
I began to accept her presence.
She would stroke my hair
While I was asleep.
She would wipe my tears
While I cried about a worthless boy.
She would listen to my pleas
While I cried and begged for death.
She was there
During my loneliest moments
In youth.
And she’s here
During my proudest moments
In adulthood.
The Paramour 