I want to kiss everyone I see, not sexually if that makes any sense? I want to have it mean nothing so my boyfriend doesn’t get jealous or sad. I only want to fuck him and a few celebrities who I will never meet let alone would want to suck my clit off and a few people I shouldn’t. Melting my spit can be an intimate experience, no? Are you soft? Use chapstick? Do you take charge or do you give up all control? Maybe I am just gross. I am likely racist and do not know it. Please tell me. Exposing racism is the food in my teeth; pointing out it can save parties and only improve one’s life. Was that funny or stupid?
Swirling around, the boy who cut himself with a plastic knife reminds me of doing anything to settle a craving. Self-harm can be the cake on the table, or coke in the kitchen. I do not tell him I used to do it because I have sides of me you can not see. People want to mull over my character. To have a slice of the trauma. Be a part of the story. I am so strong because I didn’t kill myself when I wanted to. If I shut the fuck up maybe I will actually get to the root of the problem. Ooze out the dumbass that runs through my veins along with cheap white wines. I am talking about this all wrong. I should censor myself to make you more comfortable but I won’t. I didn’t choose to live for myself, I lived because she asked me to, and she used please and thank you. And that was enough.
I love my boyfriend but it’s awkward. He doesn’t know, don’t tell him. He is carrying me on his shoulders and I am trying to lose weight. Once I am a size 0, I am sure I won’t be happy but I’ll be pretty by your standards, I’ll be alive, and I am unsure currently of other things to live for.
Cilantro and apple. Mayo and garlic. Tits out in the clear water. Drowning but still poppin dat pussy while I suffocate. I do not want a ring on my finger. I want to maintain the feeling of the bottom of the swimming pool forever.
Painted toes. Deep sighs. Nip slip. Came too early. Sawdust, an empty dab cart, and a used condom lining his trash can. He will make me dinner and I will forgive him for doing nothing wrong.
The dietician says I will die if I keep restricting my eating. She isn’t asking much of me. She is asking me to live- why am I fighting her? Will my rebellious heart give out to malnutrition? I am so stupid.. I know I am fine but my brain won’t let me believe that. I want to get better so my mom isn’t scared of me anymore. I do not want her to die afraid of her daughter. I do not want my parents to have to bury me because I wanted to be skinny. Is it all for the sake of vanity, to be loved by strangers or is it about control?
The cat throws up on the carpet. She doesn’t give a fuck, vomit. Word vomit. When I talk about the rape it was like it happened to a woman who wasn’t me. This woman is pathetic, she could have done more, a woman who just didn’t understand what was going on. What if I was just overreacting and now a man is in prison and it is my fault? What am I worthy of? Just fuck me spit in my face- do you feel good? Do you want to see my tits? What do I have to do to get you to leave my bed? Uncomfortable silence, let us marinate in this feeling. Let it roll over the holes in your brain, caves of lost information. I have numbed myself. I can only remember the trauma. I got so high that I forgot I was loved when I was at the top of the staircase. I wanted to jump, remembered my sisters, and walked home in silence.
Searching for hell on earth found men, women, non-binary, every color of skin, age, sexuality, and ability, the world is full of a lot of assholes of all sorts of shapes and sizes. How do you fight stupid from all sides? How do you look past stupid and make way for the stories that bring us together? I vow to tell the stories of the people who have graced my life. The little boy with chubby cheeks and the way his mother laughed when he grabbed her face. The Jehovah\'s Witness “Bad habits can shorten your life, damage your health, harm the people around us” Was I an idiot for trusting him? Sorry, This isn’t about me. I apologize humans are vain by nature. I am infecting my thoughts. If I make him the monster then I can be the victim instead of the horrifying reality that we are both human and he is real, I am real, and this really happened to me. I am so fucking embarrassed this happened to me-why am I so ashamed? Why did I not say no- push him off? Why did my body freeze when I needed her- My grandfather died thinking I was a fighter and I let him down. I have let down all the strong humans in my life who taught me better than allowing myself to be the victim. I am supposed to save the world, not be the girl who lets her body be an extension of patriarchal intentions. I work to be strong but my mind always circles back to what happened. Will I ever allow myself to let go? Forgive body, mouth, and hands for being silent. I watched my first perpetrator walk away unscathed and the next man goes to jail for shoving his phalanges into my vagina as the doctor phrases it. He has every right to treat me that way because I do not fucking matter unless I am pleasuring a man. Let those words bury me in an early grave, let them circle around my head, lose distractions- the woman with schizophrenia reminds me we are more than our diagnoses. She offers me a soda pop and says “I am much better now that you are here” She serves me ice cream that I try to eat even though I am lactose intolerant, have an eating disorder, and hate myself. I let it melt, a dead fly in the Minnie Mouse bowl. Swirls of cream and daydreams of my great-grandmother and the book she wrote for which I have never passed chapter 2. Her red hair, painted nails, and flowered head cap eased backstroke circling the pool. She grabs my face and says “A face without freckles is like a sky without stars.” She gives me an angel before she dies that will sit on the window sill until I can give it to my great-granddaughter. It is a terrible feeling to be loved by so many dead people you can not touch. I will love those I can feel to the fullest. My grandma and I will talk about her dreams of assassinating Trump, veganism, and what crazy color she will dye her hair next. My grammie will drink wine with me, and we will never talk about how she was sexually abused. My sister was assaulted by a man nick-named “safe”. The professor, the mother, the man in the alley, the woman who used to babysit me, the boy next door, my uncle, a family friend, the guy at the bar- Aunt Patsy was raped and murdered at age 21. How do you keep living? Am I dying because they abused me or because they taught me how to abuse myself?
When I think of my rapist I think of the day he becomes a father. When he holds his baby I hope he sees his reflection in their eyes. I wish him change, a new perspective, and redemption. I hope he loves them the way he wishes his parents loved him. Sometimes, Mohammad, I wonder where your eyes come from. Whose nose is that? Are you more like your mother or father? What do they think of you now that you are in prison? Do they think I am just another white bitch ruining the life of a good man? Did I ruin a man’s life? I killed a man’s reputation or should he be held accountable for his actions? How do you move forward when everything takes me back to that day?
I have been let down by so many people, I will break my body to share with you. I will not let down the people who love me. I will not give up on you Elizabeth, you always wanted me to be an artist, thank you for seeing my reflection when I was blind. How do I thank all the people who have made me strong? How will I share my blood? My bonds? My body?
I got high again (don’t tell ma, I’m sorry), a semi-permanent marker to my flesh. Mine. Mine. Mine. My body belonged to me. I belong to her. Feel free to Dive into my brain, and take a peek at the dysfunctional. Watch the sunrise, sink, and set, in no certain order. We can fix this. Deep breath. Relax, Grow your body, lay in the dirt, cry into mirrors- beautiful woman, you do not have to smile. Save the world in your sweatpants- bra off, get it girl.