Not Fair

It’s not fair.

Why must I burn while you get to thrive in paradise?

Why must I carry and heal the wounds of your abuse while you get to be happy?

I have cried,

I have screamed,

I have begged,

I have prayed,

I have died,

But you get to have the fairytale ending?

You get to move on like it never happened?

I have to cope and adjust with what happened,

And boil over with hatred 

Every
Single
Day.

But you get to act like I never existed in your worthless life? 

It’s just not fucking 
Fair.

Satisfaction

There an undeniable sense of satisfaction
When your entire being in declining. 

My hair,
My proud kinky curls,
Are dying into my own hands.

My skin,
Brown tanned skin,
Is dying up and covered with acne scars.

My body,
Healthy and thick,
Is getting smaller and weaker.

My mind,
As deranged as it is,
Is swimming in terrorized thoughts

My will,
My will to live and partake in this life,
Is missing and I don’t care enough to find it.

I see the issue,
I feel myself sinking,
But I don’t care enough 
To pull myself back to the surface.

Don’t bother saving me.
I want to see how bad I can get.

Keeping Up

I’ve been slacking, haven’t it?
I’ve been too nice,
Too wrapped up in my own mess,
And I forgot how this is supposed to be.

Say less.

I strapped the rusty chain around your neck,
Pulling you back into reality,
And remarking your neck with wounds.

I wrap your ankles with the different chains,
And hand the ends to my assistant.

I grip the chain that are attached to your neck,
And my assistant grips the chains to your ankles.

And, 
We pull.

We pull, 
And pull.

With all the strength in the world,
And the littlest sympathy,
We pull.

Your screams don’t mean anything to us, 
As your legs began to detach from your torso.

With the power you have within you, 
You raise your eyes to meet mine.

I can see you begging for me to stop,
Begging for you pitiful life.

And all I can do,
To help you along your journey,
Is to smile as I pull your head off of your shoulders. 

Old Friend

Dear Old Friend,

I miss you.
I miss you with every fiber in my being.
I loved our friendship and I loved you
From the moment I met you
To now.

We are,
We were,
One in the same.
Different people who had the same soul, 
But different experiences.

I was always there for you.
I always had time and space for you.
I had real, unearthly love for you.
I cared for you as if we knew each other since we were mere infants.

I wish you could’ve apologized.
The situation wasn’t even that deep.
I needed your apology to forgive you.
Now, I must be cold to you and forget you.

I wish it wasn’t that way.
We both know it shouldn’t be this way.
You accepted me for who I am.
And I accepted you for who you were.

I love you, Old Friend.
I always think about you, Old Friend.
I dream about you, Old Friend. 
And I cry puddles for our short-lived friendship.

Take care, Old Friend.
Don’t be so naïve, Old Friend. 

Valentine’s Day

As I hold your beating heart in my bare hands,

I admire what you have sacrificed for our relationship.

You, with a hole in your chest,

And me, with blood on my hands.

You gave your life,

Just so I can have your heart.

The love you have for me is endless.

I glance over at the watch on your wrist.

12:01 A.M. February 14th, 2022

And you did it just in time for Valentine’s Day.

I cannot thank you enough.

This is the perfect gift. 

Being Ari

To be Ari is to be soft spoken.

To be naked and admire my natural shape and curves.

To always have a necklace around my tan neck.

To smell like shea butter and lilies.

To have fresh pink roses on my desk.

To need aftercare and comfort after sex.

To own several floral and fruity perfumes.

To be love and be loved unconditionally.

To buy and read classic novels.

To speak fluent Latin.

To be hyper-feminine.

To be soft, in every way possible.

Is This Happiness?

Sometimes, 
I wonder what true happiness is.
When I am in a position when I am not actively suffering,
I take myself out of reality and reflect.

As I write this,
I am sitting in one of the dorms of a popular, well-respected university in the United States.
Eating corn chips with hummus while Billy Joel plays in the background.
My only thought is whether I should make coffee or tea 
While I read Frankenstein for one of my English classes.

I am no longer in a toxic relationship, questioning their love for me.
I no longer seek out men or women for validation.
I have a good relationship with my mother.
I haven’t cried due to sadness in a while.

I have friends who truly care and love me.
My obsessive behavior is getting under control. 
I am learning how to control my emotions in stressful situations.
I am no longer an imposter in my own body.

However, I don’t know if this is happiness.
Are the moments where I am not questioning my life choices or myself
The moments where I am happy?

Am I 
Finally happy?
Is this what happiness truly is within human beings?

My Darkness Cannot Be Tamed

My darkness cannot be tamed.
It slips out of me when I speak,
Cutting people and making the conversation unpleasant.

It takes form in my writing,
My written words always seem to have hints of terror
And taboo.

My darkness follows into my wardrobe and style.
Black and flattering is my go-to.
I don’t own too many bright items.

It drives my relationships.
My partners are usually dark and wounded.
They are almost as sick as I am.

It takes over during sex.
It makes sadism and cruel
And it can make me submissive and craving abuse.

It defines my way of life.
Darkness is everywhere, we, as humans, just prefer to not see it.
But I embrace it.

It is my home,
My comfort,
And it is all that I know. 

Mirror, Mirror

Sometimes, I stare at myself in the mirror.

Not to fix my makeup,

Not to pop a pimple,

And not to guess my eye color.

I stare at myself to attest if I am real.

To confirm that this is really reality.

To prove that I am apart of this world.

To verify that I am actually human.

A human living in a purely, naturally, twisted world.

How could it be possible

That a human, as pure and twisted as I am,

Can live amongst morals?

I feel unreal,

I feel misplaced,

But no one gets it.

The mirror is the only way I can see my true self.

Live in my true being for those short moments

Before being ripped back into reality.

Four Little Words

“You are a monster.” 
I stand, 5’3, dripping with blood, covered in it.

“You feel so good.”
I lay, on a king-sized bed, as you slip inside my sticky, warm pool of pleasure.

“You are my person.”
I sit, at a luxurious restaurant, as you look at me with admiration.

“I think love you.”
I zoom out, as I register the words that came out of your mouth.

I haven’t heard those words in so long, I forgot how I’m supposed to feel.

I forgot that a human like me isn’t capable of loving another being

“I think love you.”