”It’s funny how i thoughtI was good at hiding myfellings, but then strangersstarted asking me what waswrong and why I looked sotired and that’s when I realized you didn’t care enough to notice”By: Simone // relhavant


”It’s funny how i thought
I was good at hiding my
fellings, but then strangers
started asking me what was
wrong and why I looked so
tired and that’s when I 
realized you didn’t care 
enough to notice”

By: Simone // relhavant

(Source: creakz)

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(Source: uglygirlcrying)

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Lauren Rauren


Lauren Rauren

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(Source: onestepbeyondmadness)

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I play chase with boys with wolves’ fangs. There is a scar on my back marking each time they have won. And yet I keep doing it. I keep prettying myself on Friday nights so I’ll be looked at. I am a stuffed doll with cotton insides. I am terrified that you will see the caution tape inside of me if you stare for too long. I’m good at goodbyes. I’m trained in them. I have no idea what to do if you choose to stay. Write about getting scared of loving | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)
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The rape joke is that you were eight.
The rape joke is that at the time,
you didn’t know people had sex to express love.
The rape joke is that the only other person
who’d seen you naked was your mom.
The rape joke is that he called you ‘beautiful’ first.
The rape joke is that he held your hands together
and told you to ‘try harder’ when you struggled.
The rape joke is that you believed him
when he told you were overreacting.
The rape joke is that your grandma
called him a nice boy and asked him to stay for dinner.
The rape joke is that he winked at you
when you apologized to your parents for not coming
downstairs the first time you were called.
The rape joke is that his friends
high-fived him for “getting some.”
The rape joke is that you still don’t feel like
you’ve regrown the pieces he stole.
The rape joke is that he was conceived when his
dad slapped himself into his snoring mother.
The rape joke is that her friends told her
she was lucky someone wanted her.
The rape joke is that each year in the United States,
32,000 other women’s bellies
ripen with life against their will.
The rape joke is that he never learned
to touch without scarring.
The rape joke is that your classmate thinks
‘have you seen what asses look like in yoga pants?’
is an argument.
The rape joke is your new boyfriend kissing
you and telling you he ‘raped’ his math test.
The rape joke is that ‘Why are girls so scared of rape? Y’all should feel pride that a guy risked his life in jail just to fuck you’
is a popular Tweet right now.
The rape joke is that you wake up to
the memory of him laughing,
“now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The rape joke is that it’s been twelve years and
you still quiver when someone touches you.
The rape joke is that he hasn’t stopped laughing.
The rape joke is that you forgot how to.

The Rape Joke | Lora Mathis
Inspired by this. (via lora-mathis)

Two people I went to high school with messaged me to let me know they saw my poem online. Cool, cool, cool. Thanks for sharing this, everybody. 

(via lora-mathis)
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I make playlists of the same five songs so I have something to drown in besides my thoughts. I walk to a bar in my neighborhood and sit on the bench outside, tipsy and smoking a cigarette at 7 p.m. as I watch the employees set up for the night. Two hours later, I climb into bed and do not leave it for three days.

When a friend offers to come to the counselor with me, I tell her I have not yet figured out how to communicate the black water inside of me without frothy waves of it spilling out. When my ex-boyfriend texts me, ‘It took them finding me hanging a noose in the basement to snap me out of it,’ I stop looking both ways before I cross the street. I thirstily lap up crash statistics and walk into bars sober, looking for the drunkest boy to drive me home. When I go home, I punch my mistakes into my cheek and tell my co-workers I slipped on the ice when they ask why I can only open my jaw halfway.

When another friend mentions the purple bags beneath my eyes I say, ‘I’m fine. I’m just tired.’ When a teacher emails me asking why I haven’t been to class in two weeks I type, ‘None of the lecture material can teach me how to climb out of a black hole,’ then erase it and write: ‘Personal issues.’ When my boyfriend asks where I was the night before, I do not tell him about sitting in the middle of the street, waiting. I smile and say, ‘Oh, I was just downstairs doing homework.’ When my mom calls to check in on me, I burst into tears.

It is months before I take a crack at my own insides with a hammer. I smash this, I smash that. My lungs collapse, my ribs shatter. My heart goes up in flames. When I am through, I lie beaten up on the kitchen floor, but take satisfaction in explaining to the doctor, ‘It was self-defense. I needed to tear myself apart to pick myself up again.’

I’m Fine, I’m Just Tired | Lora Mathis  (via soggypoetry)
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when she was 7, a boy pushed her on the playground
she fell headfirst into the dirt and came up with a mouthful of gravel and lines of blood chasing each other down her legs
when she told her teacher what happened, she laughed and said ‘boys will be boys honey don’t let it bother you
he probably just thinks you’re cute’
but the thing is,
when you tell a little girl who has rocks in her teeth and scabs on her knees that hurt and attention are the same
you teach her that boys show their affection through aggression
and she grows into a young woman who constantly mistakes the two
because no one ever taught her the difference
‘boys will be boys’
turns into
‘that’s how he shows his love’
and bruises start to feel like the imprint of lips
she goes to school with a busted mouth in high school and says she was hit with a basketball instead of his fist
the one adult she tells scolds her
‘you know he loses his temper easily
why the hell did you have to provoke him?’
so she shrinks
folds into herself, flinches every time a man raises his voice
by the time she’s 16 she’s learned her job well
be quiet, be soft, be easy
don’t give him a reason
but for all her efforts, he still finds one
‘boys will be boys’ rings in her head
‘boys will be boys
he doesn’t mean it
he can’t help it’
she’s 7 years old on the playground again
with a mouth full of rocks and blood that tastes like copper love
because boys will be boys baby don’t you know
that’s just how he shows he cares
she’s 18 now and they’re drunk
in the split second it takes for her words to enter his ears they’re ruined
like a glass heirloom being dropped between the hands of generations
she meant them to open his arms but they curl his fists and suddenly his hands are on her and her head hits the wall and all of the goddamn words in the world couldn’t save them in this moment
she touches the bruise the next day
boys will be boys
aggression, affection, violence, love
how does she separate them when she learned so early that they’re inextricably bound, tangled in a constant tug-of-war
she draws tally marks on her walls ratios of kisses to bruises
one entire side of her bedroom turns purple, one entire side of her body
boys will be boys will be boys will be boys
when she’s 20, a boy touches her hips and she jumps
he asks her who the hell taught her to be scared like that and she wants to laugh
doesn’t he know that boys will be boys?
it took her 13 years to unlearn that lesson from the playground
so I guess what I’m trying to say is
i will talk until my voice is hoarse so that my little sister understands that aggression and affection are two entirely separate things
baby they exist in difference universes
my niece can’t even speak yet but I think I’ll start with her now
don’t ever accept the excuse that boys will be boys
don’t ever let him put his hands on you like that
if you see hate blazing in his eyes don’t you ever confuse it with love
baby love won’t hurt when it comes
you won’t have to hide it under long sleeves during the summer
the only reason he should ever reach out his hand
is to hold yours

Fortesa Latifi - Boys Will Be Boys 

(And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl)

(Source: madgirlf)

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