Breathe

I forgot how to breathe...
And my heart is stuck on this repeated morbid melody
I try to use my eyelids like erasers to erase the image of you
From my otherwise picture perfect view
But somehow,
You’re seared on the inside of them
And now my canvas is tarnished
Smudged with your slovenly fingerprints
I constantly feel dirty
Like you painted me with oil
Maybe that’s way your hands tend to slip over every inch of me
Your “I love you’s” vice grip my lungs shut
I forgot how to breathe
As you lean over me
Sneaking into my room
as silently as the cancer that took mommy’s breasts away from you
your skin is saturated with the sweet perfumed of her body
the scent of her hips is stained on your lips
mixes with your favorite elixirs as you trace my ears with your tongue
I don’t want to remember how to breathe
I wonder…
How could you touch me like mommy
Be able to look at my hips and stand erect
How can you lay seed in your seed
Your semen
lines my hymen
that you have left hanging like the tattered rags
that hang off the children in Bag-
dad how could you do this to me
you use to be my knight in shinning armor
how could you fuck your own daughter
did I look too much like my mother
blossomed into a flower that too much resembled
the one whose petals have been damaged and faded
you’ve invaded my soul
and every time you kiss me my heart goes…
cold…
like the poison that you injected into me was laced with ice
I pray daily
Hoping that the what grows inside me
won’t come out looking to much like
the Demon that helped me produce this blessing
or is it a curse?
Birthing my brother
Mothering my sibling
dreading the day that I have to explain to my child
that their daddy,
and granddaddy,
hold one in the same name
predator
pedophile
molester
monster
I wish
I never
knew how to breathe
in the first place.
Wish that I was never conceived
to receive
this being
that dwells within me.
Why is this happening?
It’s become so routine…
I know exactly how many rhythmetic thrusts
come before you bust.
How many come before you slap me
for not looking like I enjoy it.
How many come before you tell me
that this is my fault
and I…
deserve it.
I’ve stopped screaming…
Stopped hoping mommy was listening
cause now I know
that she knows.
Cause she never looks at me…
directly.
She speaks to me through silence
quick glances that dance around my eyes.
I can tell that she cries.
Her eyelashes whisper I’m sorry
every time she blinks.
And it seems like she’s forgotten how to breathe,
or maybe she doesn’t want to either.
Our house is suffocating
I can’t take the tears that roll off
my souls window pains
I can’t stand the rain.
I feel like I’m drowning…
but maybe that’s not a bad thing.
At least then,
I won’t ever
have to remember
how
to
breathe...

Broken: The Essay

Do you know how to hold a broken woman?
How to mend her and hold her together? How to touch her in ways that wouldn’t remind her of the pain she had to sustain? Do you know how to erase the traces of her yesterdays?
See me, I’m tired of being broken. It seems like every time I think I have a winning hand and lay my cards on the table I still end up getting beat out. Every time I try to completely give myself to some one I always come back to me in pieces. You see the thing that hurts the most about being broken isn’t the actual act of it happening, it’s watching how you tend to misplace the pieces to who you use to be. Looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing a puzzle with fading parts or empty spots that you will never be able to fix. My maintenance is high, not because I’m materialistic, but because I’m use to being hurt, use to my heart pumping out the same saturnine melody. Simple things tend to trigger flash back of me being stabbed in the back, and sometimes I don’t even feel like bouncing back. Damn I wish life came with a re-do button, cause sometime your heart isn’t just broken by your lover, it can be broken by some one that you might consider a parental type, or brother, or even some one you might consider a sister. Funny how we tend to give these tittles to people that could be our worse enemy’s idol. So called friends have told me that if I ever wanted anything it was mine, but all I really want is for someone to remove this dagger from my spine. It keeps getting pushed and twisted further into me that now it’s broke through my soul and has left deep wounds on this ticking thing that I carry in my left breast. I’m shattered.
And I know you’re wondering how I got broken, or why I chose to write this paper on this subject matter. But all that right there, doesn’t really matter. And I know inquiring minds like to know, but sharing is caring, and frankly I stop caring a long ass time ago. All you need to know is that I’m cold, tired, and my tank is running on E, so I’m sorry if you have every thought that I was being a bit of a bitch to you but like I said , simple things make me feel like I’m in a reenactment of my past. Some people tend to think I’m a bit unstable, chemically unbalanced, or crazy whatever the hell they chose to call me. Others might view me as the silent type, stuck up, or cocky. These things that they see are true to some extent. I am unstable, cause every time I think I’ve found my stability it betrays me. And I am silent, simple because I chose to watch people and let their action speak for them. Let them subconsciously tell me every thing I need to know before they get a chance to lie to me. Now as for cocky, sometime the faded puzzle piece that is my confidence tends to regain a little color. Sometimes I think that I can rebuild myself, but then I realize I can’t build a house on a cracked foundation, even if it is empty.
Really, I just one person that I can trust. A friend or something more, I don’t care, I just need one. Or better yet both wrapped in one, someone that I don’t have to teach how to love me. Someone that I don’t have to explain my trust issues to. Someone that can make me feel whole again, someone that can rebuild me. Damn if I don’t just want somebody that already knows how to hold me. But does anyone know how to hold a broken woman? How to mend her and hold her together? How to touch her in ways that wouldn’t remind her of the pain she had to sustain? Does anyone how to erase the traces of her yesterdays?
I guess I’m just going to have to deal with being beautifully broken beyond beneficent rehabilitation, reconstruction, or reincarnation. Rebirth initializing in
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…

Broken

Do you know how to hold a broken woman?
How to mend her and hold her together?
How to touch her in ways
that wouldn’t remind her of the pain she had to sustain?
Do you know how to erase the traces of her yesterdays?
I’m tired of being broken.
Tired of trying when it seems like you don’t understand
just how much of my being exists in you.
Don’t understand that I,
am delicate…
fragile.
Despite what I spit on mics
You are a beautiful misery.
Your touches please me painfully,
but sometimes…
I feel like you’re just playing with me.
Then,
you smile.
Reeking havoc on my heartbeat,
giving me 32 more reason to love you.
And I feel like…
I need you.
I fiend for you.
Wish you could understand the stillness in my eyes,
hear everything I can’t speak
every time I swallow my tongue.
Your eyes are openly closed,
and I’m left wondering…
Are you scared of letting go?
Cause I know your history,
but sometimes,
I feel like you’re taking this out on me
When I’m just trying to give you,
all of me.
And I know it might sound hypocritical,
but your silence,
is slaying me.
I’m waiting for your kisses to save me,
but it seems like you don’t want to be my hero.
Your light seems like its fading,
and I’m scared of the dark.
My Knight Light in shinning armor
your silver is losing its luster…
Was it me that tarnish you?
Maybe it was all the tears I shed on you…
Creating an easy way for you to slip away,
I’m struggling to find a way to re-shine you.
And I wish I could make my clock go tock tick backwards
I miss the old you
And now I’m regretting what I told you.
You invaded more than just my mind…
I opened up my soul for you.
Wanted my tears to wash away
what was left from those not suitable for you.
I’m trying to reach out for you,
my hand is waiting for you to take,
but you are slipping through its crevices.
Like sand held to close,
the tighter I hold you,
the more you slip away,
but I’ll be damned if I let you go.
You were everything I ever wanted
I’m wondering…
did I do too much to keep you?
Maybe I should have just acted like I didn’t want you,
lied to you,
hurt you more than possible,
then maybe you would want me…
But I’d rather see you happy,
even if it’s not with me.
Just tell me.
I’ll let you walk away freely,
no ties,
and no connections.
It’ll be like you never met me.
Just say that’s how you want it to be,
don’t keep torturing me.
“If you don’t want me then don’t talk to me”
cause my confusion is about to make me lose it.
What else do I have to do for you?
I’m tired of spiting my tears for you over mics.
Tired of trying to cradling my fears of losing you
in your eyes.
Tired of the emptiness in your “I love you’s”
sending shivers down my spine.
If you love me,
tell me without speaking.
Make me feel beautiful
instead of invisible.
I just want you to hold me.
But do you know how to hold a broken woman?
How to mend her and hold her together?
How to touch her in ways
that wouldn’t remind her of the pain she had to sustain?
Do you know how to erase the traces of her yesterdays?
……I’m so tired of being broken.