Sorrow swells in my heart
As a new beginning is laid out for me.
Change has never been something of comfort,
But something to repulse.
My seeds are planted here,
However, I am called to another land.
My body,
My heart doesn’t want to go,
But my mind knows it will be for the best.
Tears form, but none of them embrace the surface.
A new chapter awaits me with open arms,
But I am still clinging on to what I know.
Skin to skin,
Blood to blood,
You are all I’ve ever wanted.
I asked for you,
And I was given
To you.
I wouldn’t want to be anywhere,
With anyone,
But you.
You make me feel seen,
Feel known,
And feel beautiful.
You make life worth living,
Worth tolerating,
Worth pursuing.
Being in your arms is the only peace I’ve ever known.
I was put on this earth for a reason.
I have a purpose.
But I’m slowly
Losing my mind.
My creativity is lacking,
My fingers don’t want to
Form horrifying sentences.
My head is pounding, ready to explode.
Then,
The explosion finally happens.
A small crack presents itself
And becomes wider and wider.
My hands reach up and attempt
To close the crack.
But the presence of my hands
Only causes it to widen.
Blood flows through my eyebrows,
Down and over my checks,
And drips from my chin and jaw.
It’s a bloody scene.
But,
At the scene,
My creativity blooms.
My hands, covered in blood,
Reach for the crack, still spilling blood.
I dip my fingers inside,
Saturating them with the red liquid.
Then,
I put them towards the blank page.
Blood drips and stains,
Getting it all over the place.
But I couldn’t care less.
I am finally creating art,
My art.
I have come to know art as a form of pleasure and release.
In the most recent parts of my life,
I began to recognize that I am apart of this reality.
I could be sitting in class,
Sitting at my desk,
Hanging out with friends,
When I become hyper-aware.
I become aware that I have a mother, sick who will suffer to give me her last,
A father, who is a horrible, disappoint of a man.
I have a sick mind and I am a mess with no sense on how to change it.
I become aware that I am required to live this life,
To suffer, to love, to desire, to procreate,
And live into my 40s, 50s and 60s.
And it terrifies me.
Why me?
Why us?
Why are things the way it is?
How can I change it?
Why am I like
This?
And it is the most frightening realization.
I still miss you.
Your name is sown onto my tongue,
My lips.
Your absence can’t be filled.
I feel unlovable and lost.
I was willing to be yours,
I was willing to give you the world and then some,
But it didn’t matter to you.
I sat and cried to you,
Poured my heart to you.
And all you could care about was
Her.
It hurts,
It burns,
But the pain will be over soon.
I came last night to you.
My fingers slipped into my panties,
parting my lips, and squeezed my bud until I squealed your name.
I imagined your pink tongue circling the sweet bud as I cried and wailed.
After, I imagined your tongue on my back, lapping up beads of sweat.
I hope,
I pray,
We may recreate this image one day because my hunger is getting the best of me.
I want to consume you.
I want my teeth deep into your flesh, drawing blood.
I want your fingers in my mouth, allowing my tongue to taste and explore.
I want your hair in my hands, pulling and parting it.
My sense of life has depleted and I need you to refill it.
My apologies for the harshness,
But my love for you is nothing, but passionate and consuming.
I still linger in the past like a lost ghost.
I am still in his bed, pretending to be asleep while I listen to him twist and turn.
I am still in high school, looking out of a window, yearning for more.
i am still a child, snuggled in the arms of my father.
The good,
The bad,
I miss it all.
I will carry it all with me throughout the journal,
collecting more and wondering what could have been.
I’m not a violent dog; I don’t know why I bite.
I truly don’t know why I bite.
I am an very sweet girl:
I love baking,
I like writing and singing,
I love animals and I love the color pink.
However,
When things get scary and I think I need to defend myself,
I attack.
I bite deep and always leave a mark.
I hold grudges and can be the meanest, the evilest person you ever met.
But it’s not me.
It’s not the girl who likes to bake cookies for her loved ones,
It’s not the girl who likes to cuddle and talk for hours,
It’s not the girl who has the sweetest smiles and nicest words.
I don’t know why I bite,
I just want to be sweet and be loved.
Yesterday,
My father called me about my birthday and wished me an early birthday.
He asked me if I felt anything different,
He asked me if I still felt like I was fifteen.
I told him I didn’t know,
But in reality I did know.
I do still feel fifteen,
I do still feel like a child,
I do still have no clue on what I’m doing or if I’m doing it right.
There’s a feeling lingering within me,
It has been there for a while,
But it is more present now.
I feel lost,
Alone,
And I don’t know if I like it or not,
If I’m comfortable or not.
I feel as if I am in a box with no way out.
I feel out of place,
Alone and out of place.
To my dearest lover,
I hope you find this one day and know
I will forever look for you in the men I seek.
I will never leave that tiny bed we shared.
I will never feel as safe in another individual’s arms as I did yours.
I shed a tear for our lost love.
I shed a tear for the being I lost when you left me
and chose another.
I send a silent prayer to the individual above,
hoping they will lead you back to me,
back to true, honest, authentic love and comfort.
I pray you will be back,
but I know you won’t.
So take care
and never forget about me.
The Paramour 