poems + prose

My story

[when-i-was-killed]

I’m an intergenerational csa incest survivor writing poetry and prose to vent and tell my story.

all poetry and prose listed under #wiwkpoem

normal blog where I post like a human instead of a rabid dog: @bonegrrl

[when-i-was-killed]

Sometimes statistics remind me of the depressing truth that there is no way to heal from this. My body was permanently affected by someone else's choices. Now my bones hurt in the strangest of ways and I thought I was brave for being this way. For only knowing how to take. I wish I could live life through someone else with a different story sometimes. I wish I didn't always have to be alive.

[when-i-was-killed]

Daddy I'm going to die

in your bones.

In the river of blood

you slit from my throat.

Give me my freedom

in exchange for love.

Daddy, I'll die for the both of us.

One or the other

you get to choose.

There's no longer me,

there's only a you.

You begin to get closer,

say my name over and over,

yet it's a name I don't choose.

[weltenwellen]

Wildness Before Something Sublime Leila Chatti

[when-i-was-killed]

EVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVILEVIL

ITS EVIL!!!

No, silly, it's LEVI!

Two things can be true, at the same time.

[when-i-was-killed]

It makes you uncomfortable

to look in the eyes

it makes you feel strange

I can see through lies.

I was raised by one who was married to another.

I died an early death in the world.

The tree that is strangely curled.

Growing toward the light and still deformed

I already died but no one will mourn.

Instead I watch while he gloats about.

A pig raising a beer to his mouth,

while everyone laughs at the words from his snout

"she must be crazy,

he's such a great guy,

what's that about?"

And I am bleeding out on the floor

my guts are left in my underwear

while they look away

and run to the door.

You are afraid of darkness

you've lived in your whole life

All I want is to turn on the light.

Illuminate every ugly thing

Kill every snout nosed king

And I prayed for each person

that let the bells of freedom ring.

[when-i-was-killed]

I never even knew

I died when I was two.

Split and cracked.

When you open something

You can't go back.

I am made of broken pieces.

You won't even look at them,

just complain about how they aren't whole.

People want the sexy side of you.

A hole to stick themselves into.

He already killed me and my whole life has been an afterlife.

I never even knew

I died when I was two.

[when-i-was-killed]

If only there was a way for me to never be here, to always be floating above. I try everything, and your body gets used to what it does. What is new becomes boring over time and I am left seeking what it feels like to be divine. I don't feel that there's worth to being alive. I try to drown out my existence, but my body has gotten used to my resistance.

Meanwhile I become older each year. A depreciated car driven off the lot too early, before the car even knew the year. I want to be dead most days. And they pity me with their gaze. Everybody wants something new, something fresh. Nobody wants what's left.

I know I will die early from this demon passed onto me. I never live without it, there is no other place for me to be. I can't wait to be gone, to not have to experience life in this dying host. The world is cruel and begotten with suffering and it will never change.

I am broken. Why do I have to suffer all of this, knowing the world and my body will only fall apart more. There will be nothing that is the same. I feel empty every day. Even violence couldn't break through the way I move through the world, a ghost in a maze.

[when-i-was-killed]

I want the world to feel my pain. It is unfair for it to belong to me. I want everyone to feel the pain so much that it finally reaches the man responsible.

Yet he too blames his pain on another. What a strange way to avoid reprecussion, to cover.

For crimes that could never be undone with time.

What he took in this life I will one day find.

Maybe in the next life I am a jaguar, and he is a rat with his face looking sour. No matter how loud he screams, he will always be food to me. This time, it is I who will devour. Not to rape, just to eat and dissapate. Killing is kinder than it's mate, and karma will be complete at that date.

When my claws sink into his skin, he will know that he cannot live. And it will be my turn to dig in.

I will rip you apart at the seams, you are nothing although you created me. You are a toy in my grasp, my paw will one day smash, everything you know in your one life.

[when-i-was-killed]

You are afraid of evil,

of the devil's glint in your eye.

You are so afraid,

you say a lullaby.

You turn the other cheek,

hoard someone else's secrets to keep

and one day you will leave me to die.

[when-i-was-killed]

I hate this world so much.

Why can't someone rescue me?

I just sit and try to be blind to reality.

I put a cover over it so nobody looks at me.

But I am a reminder of what people don't want to be.

[when-i-was-killed]

I hate that people like you get away with everything. That you can stand on a podium and laugh knowing you killed children. In many families, the man of the house stands on his podium, leading his own tiny dictatorship, as if the women and children in his life are pawns on a chess board. The vulnerable are game pieces to be played with.

Now I hide my face when people try to talk to me. I am a real shut in. I don't see the point though. Everyone wants to talk about the same things, and no one wants to talk about the things that matter. They ask, why are you upset? Sometimes I just cry. Sometimes I just remember what it felt like to be moved, taken, controlled, and I have to run away. I have to get away. People that talk to me want something that I can't give. I'm not a whole person, I'm a ghost floating around. I don't like when people see me. I don't see the point of friends. No one understands and I would never expect them to. But because I don't say it, no one knows why I am the way I am. Why do I live in this strange land? I don't belong to anyone now. But I still can't leave my cage, I like my strange insides, I don't want to go out.

The world is a very evil place, a secret I keep from children I speak to. I try to be calm around them, stable, assuring, the same every day. I don't want a child to live in fear of me. There is already so much to be afraid of in this world. Is this how we really treat are most vulnerable and moldable beings? With hatred and disgust at their not knowing the rules of a world falling apart? Greedy men profiting from their bodies? I don't want to stand there policing their body language. You are human not a robot. You can rock and move and wiggle, as long as we keep working and keep learning. You can ask questions and be so excited that sometimes you blurt out, we are still practicing for existence. We are learning.

[when-i-was-killed]

six degrees of separation situation.

what they say of the nation.

They are connected,

creating an artificial story of creation.

And we manuever sideways in this place,

walls closing in

A walls' closed sin.

[when-i-was-killed]

I felt it poured upon me

a bag full of rocks.

All my mother's fury,

where does it stop?

A brother's hand upon her shoulder

while she curls away.

No matter how perfect you remain,

the rock will always stay

between your shoulder blades

a reminder of the pain you hate

tense and lurching forward

with your heart as a grenade.

The rock is a crushing death

bloody, violent, nothing left.

Once you tear it from between

picking up everything

only then can you breathe

only then do I see

you were a little girl like me

a rock between her shoulder blades

lurching quietly.

[when-i-was-killed]

I was disillusioned that there was no magic in the world, as a approached my teens. I wanted so badly for there to be fairies and mermaids, werewolves and vampires. I wanted magic. It took a long time to understand that the earth is magic. The cycles of life and death, completed without waste, every piece of matter repurposed, are very magical. The sunlight on someone's eyes, the coolness of the water like a deep breath, the person you run into over and over again. These things are magic too.

[when-i-was-killed]

It's snowing

here, there, and everywhere.

It's snowing truth

and it looks exactly like you.

It's hard to make out a face in all the white and blue

I see it too, but I'm still scared of you.

I think in some way you are scared of me too, and it comforts me, unlike truth.

[when-i-was-killed]

I really don't want to go to my first therapy appointment with this new lady I'm scared. It's easier to keep everything in a box and look at it, when I take things out of the box it makes the whole room messy and disgusting it gets everywhere and I can't escape I can't go anywhere.