i woke up with a bang

the feeling of past shame

i am not her yet i feel like i am

the label of slut painted on my face

for i want to be loved for every part of me

my hair my eyes my smile even my personality

as long as im not used for my body i am content

but my mind will not allow me to run free

trapped in my bed

no motivation no empathy

no need to eat

staring at the blank page trying to feel my poetry

not just write it

you have to feel your words to process your emotions

it’s hard to explain the feeling of numb

hard to pin point when it begun

since my parents had left me to fend on my own i will alway feel the pain of alone

a nightmare that sounds similar to reality

listening to my mom as she screams

a nightmare that was reality

she never understood me

to hit me not hear me

every time i stood up i gained a little less fear

as every tear ran down my young face i knew older me would get out of that place

i would run as far as i could

to be missing is better than misunderstood

i would be my own mother if i had to i would

i would start a new life next to the cottonwood trees and maybe just then i would feel happy

fill the void with nature not drugs

that little girl just needed a hug

to be nurtured by her own mother sounded like a dream

that young girl turned into a fein

she was judged by everyone but she could not help it

the older girl needed a hug

but where was she to run too?

who did she have to run too?