I don't know how to process this
with everything else it is easy
I feel it, I process, and I deal
but I cannot process this
I cannot comprehend
how those words
managed to float out your mouth
and even worse
how you thought it was okay
how you act as if you do not know
what I am talking about
as if you did not watch me break
into a thousand million pieces
again you insist you do not know
and dear god
I can feel the scream
on the tip of my tongue
you called me a whore mother
but I bite it back
carving crescents into my palms
and god I can hear it
you're a whore
echoing in my head
bouncing off the walls of my brain
a constant pounding
a constant reminder
what do you expect me to do
do you expect me to forget
do you think I can just
not hear it every time you look at me
do you think it doesn't hurt me
how do I process this
how do I deal with this
when I can't even say anything
without you rationalizing it
as if calling your daughter a whore
is justifiable
what am I supposed to do
you're my mother
I'm supposed to lean on you
who do I go to
if I don't even have you
YOU ARE READING
wilting roses
PoetryAnother collection of (bad) poems. *tw: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, drinking, suicidal ideation and self harm* -a collection of poems that document my experiences with my mental health throughout high school. a warning: i had a few undiagn...
