Arsenic in LaceGentle kiss placed upon my skin,
Can't you feel the poison seeping in?
Keeping just out of reach,
I am the Garden of Eden's spoiled peach.
Through perfect poise and dark elegance,
You will pay for such foolish arrogance.
Taking my innocence you couldn't resist,
Here's to hoping you manage to cauterize your bleeding wrists.
A toast! To sin as old as time;
A praise! To execution so sublime.
Soft, beautiful and toxic after a single taste,
Darling, I am nothing more than arsenic in lace.
Beloved Future Self
Dear Future Self,
Hey, you. Or, alternatively, me. I've never spoken to you before, but I think it's time I did, not for a contest or views but because I know better than anyone that you need it right now.
I know you're hurting and you're scared. I know how you can't look in the mirror without clawing away at yourself and I know you write this with shaking hands and a heavy heart, but this isn't just about you. This is about the little girl you used to be and the little girl out there that's exactly as you were. Because they need you. I need you. Please stop crying each night, this will make you stronger. I know it's hard. I know you don't think it's fair, but who ever said life was fair? No one, because it would be the poorest excuse for a lie ever spoken. So take that step. Look up into that mirror and say it. Out loud.
"I was sexually abused."
Stop. Don't you dare erase that sentence. Remember those girls who could be reading this. Do NOT regret these words. Even if they do not help
Child Cell BlockShe was a dancer, says the several pairs of tights, ripped and strewn throughout the room;
A hard-worker too, agree the worn leather shoes tossed carelessly in a corner;
A loving and reminiscent teen, adds a board cluttered with letters drawings and photo from old friends, perfectly preseved and arranged with care;
But not a lover of herself, decides the lack of mirrors or typical make up and jewelry sets.
She had a dog, the white fur pointed out as it covered anything and everything important;
She loved it as if it were her own child, whispers a still-made side of the bed, designated for the westie;
Naivety was vast, claimed the childish decorations, soft plush animals and well-kept "Alice" posters displayed sporadically throughout the room;
Innocence was fleeting, reminded handmade dream catchers, with bare feathers and unraveling ribbon around dry, cracked twine, holding on to a time when happiness filled every corner of the mind,
Tranquility had grown haunted, object notebooks fill