Rewriting The Stars

Bent over a sink fistful of my hair, bruise marring my face. "It was consensual," he said. "We had fun," he said. Fingers bruised my thigh, gripping me tight so I couldn't move. Tears falling into the sink as he violated me, took my virginity in the most vile way imaginable. The mirror showed a girl dying on the inside for the sole purpose of some guy getting off- damn the consequences. Didn't tell anyone. Who would believe a loner over the southern gentleman? (he wasn't so gentle) But it happened. And finally I'm able to speak up and speak out against the sexual assaults that plague the media and society as people condemn the victim. "It was her fault." "She should have said something." Nobody believes a victim- the accusation is swept under a rug. But that can't happen if the assailant is in public eye. Everyone can hear it- It can't be swept under the rug anymore. -Don...

Red nails Tap Tap Tapping on the counter- impatient waiting for a peace of mind. Red lips stain the cigarette I am Puff Puff Puffing for a sense  of normalcy. Red blood Drip Drip Dripping down my arm- staining the bathroom tiles, marking where I lost my control- where I lost my mind. Red sky sun setting. Another day lost- another mind broken.

Smell of smoke mixed with lavender- Tears marked her face, but a smile graced her lips. Messy hair and a formal dress to class. Nothing ever made sense about this girl, but that's what people loved about her. The unpredictability- the chaos. Until she revealed how unstable her mind was, then they all ran.                    -mind and appearance matched...   how shocking...

I sit on the roof of this apartment - where I am not allowed, losing myself in the ethereal stars. The smoke from the cigarette dangling from my lips, making shapes as it rises towards the heavens. How I wish you were here with me to form poetry from the stars and stories in the smoke. The perfect scene- how picturesque. However, quite lonely when I sit here reminded of how you would enjoy this aesthetic perch, snapping memories with your camera and scribbling in your notebook as much as I. Your poetic thoughts - my inspiration as they always have been. We must visit soon.

Do you remember last summer when we explored parts of the city  we grew up in but never saw? When we had picnics in the park looking for faeries under the mushrooms and danced in the suns rays, oblivious to the people watching? When we went swimming in the sweltering heat? The cold refreshing water and the smell on sunscreen. The snowcone battle that you won by pushing me into the pool. When we kissed goodbye on the roof of the tallest building in our city before leaving our separate way? Do you remember the tears and our embrace neither of us wanted to end? Do you remember  the salty lips and desperate eyes? Do you remember  how you promised to love me forever? Forever is over and done- ripped apart by your tongue. Makes me wonder how this summer will be. It'll be hard to compare to the adventures and love  of the one before.

Tattoos, like scars, forever etched into our skin. Scars to tell our history. Tattoos to remind of the beauty that can come from the darkness. Through our tattoos, our colors shine brightly through.

I'm a fucking masterpiece with my chipped nail polish, pudgy tummy, touching thighs, unbrushed hair, smudged eyeliner, and faded lipstick. I may look a wreck, but that's just me. And I am a piece of art.

How poetic the things that kill us are. cigarettes...alcohol...drugs... and the boy with the sky in his eyes. How romantic poison can be.

He writes happiness every day in my soul, I just translate it to paper.

Honey, you cannot erase a hurricane, the winds cannot be slowed nor the lightning be stifled. The storms are a-blazing and there's no stopping me now.

In the chaos I found you, surrounded by the battle still raging on not a hair out of place.  You stood out among the destruction and gore- looking so perfect  with the glow of an angel.  You rescued me from all the conflict I had grown so accustomed to.  With you I fly to paradise,  a place where the destruction has not reached.  Though the war still rages on waiting for me to finish it, with you I lie peacefully.  For once in my chaotic life, I feel safe.

Cigarette hanging daintily from her fingers- eyes rolling at the very thought of you- sucking poison to die quicker, but you'd never know her intentions. Hell in high heels, as they say. Good luck trying to catch her.

People always tell you when life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. But they never tell you how to make lemonade when life hands you grenades instead.

If distance makes you wise, then I must be a genius because everyone I've ever loved has moved away.

I forgot what it was like to be me. I've spent so much of my time trying to be what everyone else wanted, that I lost who I really was. I want to remember the thrill of dancing on the roof and in the rain. I want to remember my camera always pointed, capturing the beauty of memories. I want to remember the elegant, truthful words that use to roll off my tongue and through my pen. I want to remember what love felt like, people loving me and me loving others. I want to remember true friends I could talk to without judgment. I want to remember family under the saying Ohana.  I want to remember the real me. No, I don't just want to remember it all,  I want to experience it all again.

Everyone tries to fix me.  They all think they're the one who can accomplish  this impossible task. Talking about feelings,  learning to trust,  gaining friends,  kissing,  hugging,  fucking.  None of it fixed me.  I always went home afterward,  took off my makeup, looked in the mirror,  and my broken reflection stared back at me. I'm still broken, despite everyone's efforts.  Will I ever be okay again?

The lies can't go on any longer. The love can't be faked anymore. I'm not perfect and I don't love you. I don't want to be alone but I never intended to go this far. I'm fucked up, but I'm sorry I hurt you. You didn't deserve that. But you needed to know.

Why is there so many songs about "true love" and "soul mates" but next to no songs about finding and mending yourself?  Self love is so much more important than "soul mates"  You can be your own true love. Why can't they make that a topic of a song?

I want to go home,  but I don't know where that is anymore. It's not where I stay the night. It's not at my parent's home. It's not in his arms. Where is it?

"I love you," he said. I smile at him in thanks, not replying. Confusion colors his face as he wonders why I don't return the sentiment as I have before. He voices he concern, "Why don't you say it back?" "How can I tell you that if I don't truly believe in love? I won't lie to you like that," I tell him, hoping he'll understand-hoping he won't be mad.