I hate that they care about my safety.
I know that may be strange but I really do hate when they care about my safety.
Who gave them the right  to put themselves in my life?
Who gave them the right to prevent my scars? Who gave them the right to tell me what to do?
Did I?
Did I subconsciously show them I need their cure? Did I talk in my sleep and ask them to save me? When did I say it would be okay  for them to stand around me like ignorant soldiers?
Ignorant soldiers.
That’s what they are.
Such f***ing ignorant soldiers.
You see, who gave them permission to guard me? Who said they could block me from the world?
Because I don’t need to be saved ; I need to fall.
I need to be naked in front of the scorching flame started by this generation's ‘mean girls’. I need to feel life caressing my spine, peeling my eyes and tracing my feet. I need to figure out what it is to be me. I do not need your shield, your swords, your fear. I need your terror. I need to bathe in this horror. I need to feel defeat. If I spend all my days behind your stone walls, I will never spend a day living.
A heartbeat is not a life.
A chill on your eyelashes, a thumping in your chest, a fear of death. That is life.
I wish I knew better. For my heart has been beating but I can’t seem to remember the last cool breeze these eyelids felt. My eyes may blink but they do not shine. I need you to strip the paint you use to cover windows out to misery. For even if it’s misery, I still want to know what it feels like to be living. I want to feel. Because I’m starting to see death inside. I’ve started to crumble at my edges and fade in the center. Ever since he left and they said I couldn’t go with him. They said it’s for my own good and I used to try so hard to get that.
With fingernails deep in my skull and toes curled to my heals, I did try. But I am tired and their words are beginning to grey. The things they have said have wrinkles and I’m ready to leave.
I want life to possess me, like it does in books that are too long to read. I want my thoughts to hang all the way down to the ground. I need to know what heartbreak feels like. The broken pieces in a soul, the cracks and chips on their shell, I need to feel.
Let me lift my arms and feel the breathing of too many souls lift me til I fall. Let me open my lips and hold what comes out. Let my shoulders kiss my ears when things get to a point I wouldn’t want. Let my back face the weapons they thought I needed Because I’m starting to have these short hard winds touch my tongue, my fingertips are starting to sink. And if I have to put the corners of my mouth to the middle of my cheeks, well it might just kill me.
They say I am too weak, that I need more time to train. But why do I feel this was never training but just a game designed for me to loose?
You see, I have searched my whole life to find that gift they’ve told me about. I have searched for that feeling that’s supposed to make me forget all the bad things.
And I get it.
I guess in all this angry ranting I forgot to tell them that I get it.
I have had too many bad things happen to me that one more just seemed inhumane.
But every bad thing you think destroyed me, did. For a while. Every time he came into my room, it destroyed me, For a while.
The thing they don’t get is, I can’t be destroyed for long. I have to get back up because if you're on the floor too long people will just come and barry you.
And when it was over and I had time to breathe, I did get back up because I wasn’t ready to be buried.
But then she started lying. That destroyed me. For a while. When she used to sneak him into her back room that would tear me apart. For a while.
The thing is, I still wasn’t ready to make friends with worms and the sky was only tainted grey. So I woke up and kept walking but this time with help. Help I wish they warned me about. Warned me about. Not didn’t tell me about. Not sheltered me from. Warned me about.
You see you dare to protect me from things that have already happened. Yet, then I was alive and now I am ‘surviving’ on solely society’s equivalent to kale.
Maybe I should’ve told them I appreciate it. That even though I may have considered it too late, I appreciate the effort. Maybe I should’ve done that instead of sneaking out the basement…
The basement looked so fun though. I was told I would get so happy. Because kids who run out the basement door get invited to parties and asked out to places. Kid who run out the basement get to fly and forget about all the bad things.
They didn’t warn me that the kids who run out the basement get infected by poison….
I guess they wouldn’t have mentioned that  since they never mention anything bad anymore. Since they never did warn me about anything. Since they practically forced me to run out that basement door!

Or at least that’s what I tell myself when the poisonous adult candy wrapper makes it’s way around to my lips. When the pills swim moist and warm between my cheeks. When things start to happen that I know I won't quite remember if I make it through the night. When my tongue feels like a wave trying to make my lips some sort of beach. When everything starts to feel like I am the splotches you see when you rub your eyes too hard.  When I think to myself that nothing will be worth it as soon I open my eyes. When I realize that instead of taking their control and giving it to myself, I just gave it to something worse.
I met this boy though. This beautiful wonderful boy. And he was so… My heart just kind of sat in his lap. Just like that. And I guess he thought something of me too. I guess he thought something of me as I held his hand while his father screamed words so sharp they could cut a child's ear right off. I guess he thought something of me as I told him my ridiculous crazy stories to distract him from his mother’s lupus. I guess he thought something of me as I laid with him when the tears were just too much and he needed someone to carry some of them.  I guess he thought something of me as we fell in the kind of love I could have never thought even existed. I guess he thought a little less of me as my stories started to be tainted with the color we aren't supposed to talk about. I guess he thought less of me as my hand shook more than his father's throat. I guess he thought less of me when my jar of tears was already full and I couldn't take more of his any longer. And I guess my lips were the ones that broke his camel's back. I guess adult candy, x rated juice boxes, games for characters in movies they play way too late in the night, were just too much. I guess I was just too much and mixed with his too much would have been too much. Because I went out the basement and I could never not be too much after going out the basement.
And that destroyed me. Not for a while.
And this isn’t a drug story, an abuse story, a love story, some twisted bad childhood story, this isn’t even a story.
This is me sitting here, wishing you never cared so much about my safety. Because maybe then I could’ve learned to care about my safety on my own.
Maybe I was never your victim. Maybe I was never your gold. Do you really have the right to protect me at the risk of me hurting myself? Do I not have the right to spit on you armor? Do I not have the right to deny your swords? Because I am not your lab rat. I am not the painting to put in too nice dining rooms. I am a human and don't bring anymore to that. I am human. Let be with humanity.