tunnel vision.

Crawling through a pitch-dark tunnel,

Alone.

Paralyzed, unable to function.

 

Ground trembling uncontrollably,

Everything slipping out underneath you.

Numbed out emotionally.

 

Air growing thin,

Head becoming feather-like.

Breath patterns waning like a teeter-totter; lungs filled with pins.

 

Cold sweat grasps slipping away

From conceptualized reality.

Can’t keep these thoughts at bay.

 

Ashamed, embarrassed, wanting to run back under the rock of stable security,

“Why can’t I control this?”

Public displays of anxiety are such an obscure insecurity.

 

“It’s all in your head”

The scars beg to disagree.

Truly this information is unjustifiably misled.

 

Sometimes, words can’t sufficiently describe what it’s like to have deep rooted anxiety.

Being such a complex box of emotions,

It deserves to be discussed properly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

casting call.

New chapters for a new book.

In search for new characters to

Portray a more coherent outlook.

 

Characters who will give a damn;

Care about the wellbeing of others.

Characters who won’t end up like the others.

 

Every so often relationships die out,

Surpassing the stage of dormancy;

Flat lining from all the struggling attempts to revive something that perhaps wasn’t meant to be.

 

The protagonist growing tired,

Growing exhausted from consistently bending over backwards-

For antagonists who fade in and out in between the lines.

 

Unlimited stress and free access to waning emotional roller coasters-

All-inclusive benefits for pressing relationships; all displayed

For readers to interpret themselves.

 

Readers screaming in overwhelming angst at each turn of the page:

“LEAVE!”

The abundance of red flags is truly a terrifying sight.

 

Relationships are cyclic at times,

Perhaps when they are not meant to exist.

Perhaps only existing for plot twists; life lessons.

 

So to bid adieu to old characters,

And welcome the new.

We accept the lessons placed in their memory.

the double-edged sword

Censorship is a double-edged sword.

In today’s world, we teach our youth an abundance of useful tricks and tips:

How to do look,

How to do drugs,

How to fuck,

How to impress,

How to treat him or her right,

How to keep up on relationship goals,

How to make him or her to fall for you,

How to bulk up,

How to slim down,

How to destroy yourself,

How to do it right,

How you’re doing it wrong,

How to use a gun,

How to get revenge,

How to shake that ass,

How to be accepted,

How to be perfect,

How to morph your face into a new face,

How to be pretty,

How to be something you’re not,

And yet, opening conversations on certain topics that may seem “taboo” or “touchy” is frowned upon.

Mental illness, rape, sexual assault/harassment, coping, depression, anxiety, OCD, societal standards, pressures, etc.-

It’s “unacceptable”- inappropriate.

It’s time to stop shaming topics that are deemed too extreme or uncomfortable and start considering

Why?

Why are these topics touchy or deemed taboo?

Censorship.

A double-edged sword that doesn’t have to be.

Censorship;

A barrier for topics that need to be discussed and or questioned.

Censorship- it kills.

things no one told me about life post-rape.

things no one ever told me about life after rape.

stranded.

How unforgiving is the past?

To think something as commonplace as sheading some locks,

Although being held back with the urge to ask permission.

“You don’t do anything with your hair anymore…you obviously don’t care about me.”

Strands holding me down in captivity.

“If you cut your hair, you won’t be as pretty.”

Hiding behind the cloak of defense,

Falling deeper into the idea of conceptualized beauty.

A distorted lens.

“Long hair is sexy.”

As if medial standards don’t portray this enough.

“Guys like long hair. It gives them something to hold onto during sex.”

My freedom cannot be restrained by your fetish.

An unsettling disturbance of self,

Some sort of internal blemish.

 

 

 

If my hair determines your appreciation for me,

I feel as though your priorities are misconstrued.

Perhaps our kinship was never meant to be.

on staying.

“Why did you stay?” “You really know how to pick em”

-You’re right, I stayed because those long nights of shaking to death weren’t enough for me to leave.

I stayed because being on constant alert was exhilarating.

I stayed because the cuts on my arms were enough for me to feel loved.

I stayed because I enjoyed feeling guilty over crying.

I stayed because not sleeping for four nights straight was better than actually connecting with any sense of sanity.

I stayed because I enjoyed being torn down.

I stayed because walking on eggshells made it easy to communicate to others.

I stayed because isolation was perhaps the highlight of the whole relationship.

I stayed because feeling responsible for a death was romantic.

I stayed because I love feeling unworthy of any variable of love.

I stayed because rape was my new norm.

I stayed because rape was his salvation.

 

I stayed because the chains had such a strong hold on my ankles.

After all, it’s hard to scream abuse when his hands prevent me from doing so.

Staying wasn’t a choice.

Staying was a command;

An unwritten testament.

hide-and-seek.

She is the master of hide-and-seek.

When the seeker counts backward from 60,

She manages to hide in the deepest of places.

Places no one would ever go to in order to find her-

Even if it meant victory.

 

She is the master of hide-and-seek.

When they finally find her,

They can’t tell if it is her or not.

Sure, she still has that golden smile, but something is…

Different.

 

She is the master of hide-and-seek.

When she seeks,

She overlooks all of her friends in the most obvious of places, turning to

The deepest of darkest places imaginable.

Lurking for the monsters.

 

She is the master of hide-and-seek.

When she is in the darkest of spots,

She discovers comfort.

 

She is the master of hide-and-seek.

When she hides,

You won’t ever seek the real her again.

When she seeks,

She will go to great lengths to find the most challenging of hiders.

the grey matter.

Mama always told me to save myself for marriage.

For your one true love;

The person you’ll spend the rest of your life with.

Pops always told me to find true happiness in someone.

With that one special someone;

Someone who would make me whole.

Growing up; sex was sacred, forbidden, disgusting and oh so mysterious.

Growing up; rape was unheard of, unspoken of, behind closed doors, and oh so distant.

Mama never told me that there are 50 Shades of Rape.

Media never told me that- according to contrary belief-

Rape is not black and white.

Rape is not a vulnerable woman walking down a dark alley at night.

Rape is not a representation of being weak.

Rape is not a male stranger clothed in black hiding behind a dumpster in said dark alley

Preying on his next victim.

Rape is not controversial.

Rape is not a culture.

Rape is not confined to any extreme.

Rape is not confined for it holds

No boundaries.

my puppeteer.

Everything went black.

I need more air, more time, more space.

Gasping for air is never more painful than in the heat of a panic attack.

Hyperventilating all of my fears away; it engulfs me, body and soul.

Dad holds me close trying to drown out the shakes.

“Breathe.”

Sure, I would breathe-

I would breathe, but my lungs are torn in two;

Struck with shock and rage.

The surrounding premises blurs out,

Hearing fades out into the abyss of nothingness.

Tremors escalate to a petrifying climax,

Just as the cold sweats join the party- uninvited.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, God dammit.

Dad, where is the air?

Like a rag doll,

My limbs quiver uncontrollably.

Anxiety- my puppeteer.

 

 

 

plot twist.

Sometimes the words cannot suffice.

Nothing can mend a dead psyche.

Spending hours away from the place you grew up in order to

Escape the banter.

Begging them to give a damn when in reality,

There are no reasons to.

Sitting in the same seat in the same coffee shop in order to gain some stability.

Going through the day speaking fewer words;

Running around more attempting to fill the void.

Flipping through countless books struggling to leave your current reality.

Nothing.

Sentences dwelling deep within awaiting assembling when

All the while, it’s constructor is going through a period of severe writer’s block.

Wondering when everything will come together;

Realizing the inevitable.

Scaring myself into believing everything is momentary,

Much like the overflowing stream marking its territory over its pale and freckled turf.

Reaching for life in the midst of the clouds.

Slipping through the cracks of bone and skin.

Life as it were,

is only a temporary moment.

A glimpse of

Random events sown into an oversized quilt.

With gaps depicting the stagnation of life’s

happenings.

Plot twist.