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.

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.

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.

writer block’s cousin.

Depression is Writer Block’s cousin that came for a visit and overstayed its welcome.
Frustrating at best with long periods of aggravation when nothing seems to go according to plan.
Where the pen is in hand but cannot write,
And my mind becomes a slave to the pile of crumpled up paper next to my bed.
Where my mind struggles to stay on one thought but fails to think all together.
The pen becomes the bane of my existence although I know the real problem lays far beyond the ink mark.
Where the words on the paper do not match my thoughts,
And the blood dripping off my legs do not align with my intentions.
When saying I want to get better just leads to another shot of reality and
Actually getting better has an expiration date nearing its deadline.
And yet, all I have to cure this raging epidemic is a faulty trial and error system that
Is persistently accompanied by a bevy of side effects ranging from minor headaches to death.
Writer’s Block is the cousin who does not know how to take a hint while
Exhausting all viable resources; freely making themselves at home.
And just like that, I am evicted.

she is.

She is a worrier. Let me restate myself. She is a warrior. She observes. She thinks. She fights on. Waters try overflowing her. Others free her. She tries freeing herself. She is trapped. She is a dreamer. A doer. Can she see herself? Why not? You ask for water. She provides the ocean. Waters crash about. She struggles to float. Lightning strikes down. Thunder rolls in. Clouds overhead. Is she dead? She holds on. She breathes in hope. She exhales death. She is emotionally inundated. Screams pout out. No one hears her. That’s okay she says. I’m fine she exclaims. Is that her façade? No one knows anymore. Winds move the current. She goes with it. She is the ocean. Deep, rough, and gentle. She holds the light. She holds the darkness. She speaks in riddles. Some she doesn’t understand. She is a puzzle. Others can’t finish it. It’s better that way. She is weeded out. She is rooted again. It’s a vicious cycle. She is you. She is me.

she.

My mind is the abyss of darkness, daunting thoughts like torrential thunderstorms, where clouds creep in preparing surrounding entities of what is to come, where the calm before the storm is a tease and the heavy rains my dismay, where I am the land, flooded with overwhelming emotions and distorted thoughts, crying out for help but is over powered by the mighty thunder that is at war with lightening- my optimistic savior- who strikes others well but bears no mark on myself and continues to fight on against the current of the storm, where light struggles to creep in to destroy the inner demons that inhabit my mind, body, and soul for the inevitable remainder of my adolescents and dwell in the depths of my soul, leaving it’s scar for the remainder of my existence, all the while, I am left to withstand the current of the storm and grow deeper roots for without a storm, a tree fails to take deeper roots!