This is a slam poem I wrote for a project. This is about abuse, mental, verbal, physical and sexual. It also ties in with bullying, sexual orientation(cause for abuse).. Etc. I hope you... Get something out of it.
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Spit, spat, curses and shouting, screaming out hateful gruel that I am viewed as. This is all that I ever hear, all that I feel. The pain I feel is lacking the wounds needed to be seen. It's all interior, tearing me from within, making its way out. Echoing in my head, ringing in my ears. Haunting, branding skin with ghostly scars.
You laugh at the tears that stain my face as you tell me I'm worthless. You taunt me for expressing my emotions, for showing who I am. Then proceeding to toy with my feelings for your own amusement. Why is it so pleasing for you to shatter my hope and crush my dreams? Does it satisfy you? Knowing that you’re a monster ripping my mind and feelings apart until they’re so unstable I can't even function?
It's erratic, never suitable. Self-loathing, never good enough even when I right my wrongs.
Thinking, thinking yet I'm broken, whirling and spurring but never passing. My mind is screaming a million different things but separating the good from the bad is only half the trouble, especially when the bad is so overwhelming that I fear it'll swallow me whole. Self doubt, questioning every move I make because the people in my life slaughter my thoughts until my mind is just their playground where they throw me to the ground.
Slap, crack, snapped, feeling trapped, it's what i have to endure, something visible that all can see. Black, blue, red, dead. I'm tired of crying from all my agony, unable to bother smiling. Blood running almost endlessly, screams flying into deaf ears in time with their fists.
Glass shatters, breaking skin, pain taunting as they get more hostile by the second, acknowledging that sleep won't come to me tonight.
Memories haunt me, twisting my stomach more than the crippling pain that I feel. My cries silences as the feet steps away. Safe only for another night. What did i do to deserve such brutality, why does my existence affect you so much you desire my agony so immensely that it becomes your obsession?
Obsession, your obsession with the colours painting my skin while you use me in ways no one ever should.
Vile, disgusting, slut, whore.
These are the labels that I have become now that you have defiled my very existence with the very instances that society had warned us against. You lack to see the fear and tears in my eyes as i beg you to cease. Or maybe those are what fuels you to continue until my body is crippling with the agony and the marks that now taint my very soul.
Do you even have the word ‘No' in your vocabulary? Are you able to comprehend the word rape? Consent? Abuse? You view me as a ragdoll to be used for your own pleasure. A toy with no emotions besides the ones you wish for. You destroyed my innocence and virtue with a smile and red paint.
Your touch is revolting and unwanted but you are too blinded to see the hatred piercing your very existence. Screams for you to stop, only for replies of my apparent wishes for your disgusting caresses. I never asked for this. I was too naive to see the signs behind the eyes of the person I thought I saw, but was only an illusion created by the fantasies that shielded me from the truth. Turning tables, disbelief and failures, no one would believe me, taking a stand only for the world to cast me aside like a pile of trash. Compared, fear of you is insubstantial. So I kept my disguise and lied with a smile hiding the tears and pleas for an escape from the pain singing in my veins.
I thought my silence spoke for me, assumed that it would only get worse if I voiced my truth. I prayed someone would see past my silence and smiles masking the agony I felt beneath it. I naively thought that someone cared enough to read past my deception but only found the acceptance to my isolation. Was I wrong, right? It didn't matter anymore, no one saw, my silence did not change my situation, it only made it grow worse for they saw I lacked the resistance to put up a retaliation. I was the willing sacrifice, the punching bag, a pathetic excuse for a human being who would only share my suffering with the shadows consuming me.
YOU ARE READING
My Randoms
RandomA story filled with random ideas, written works, maybe poems.. Etc. There will also be many short stories (possibly turn into a novel? who knows) from written prompts I've found and thought are interesting ^.^ Fuuun!
