surviving

Now when I drive past your street, I cease. 

I’m empowered now yet useless in front of the stop sign where 

   I have turned right time and time again.  

A fallen stomach and a lack of consciousness,

dragging me down into the pit of clenched fists,

I make myself appear the opposite, self-assured, 

pushing yet pulling on the gas pedal to speed past his street, 

   but unseen to men in blue.

Let’s pray to the fact I am reached self-assurance, 

which doesn’t mean that I have stopped all ceasing,

for I’m filled with idea of using my fists,

because I have to convince myself over and over again, 

of which he had all the consciousness 

to control the coercion and force bruising underneath my skin. 

I don’t enjoy being expasterated. 

I don’t want to see the street and stop. 

I don’t adore being challenged on believability. 

All those memories were ones of zero recognition, 

so for you to say you remember the placement of each hand, every finger,

to make people see mirages of a storyteller laced in falsehood.

Even when I smile this big my teeth are stained with cavities, 

remembering this, creation of dissociation natures,

something that happened where I had no control of any feeling, 

of my body, or my mind, a fear I live over again and again, 

the solution to all those image is only of my character, 

for you have made strangers look at me and stare. 

To tell people I am a “crazy whore” that I lack a self-assurance,

to tell me there is no meaning to my words or my actions,

threatening to tell parental figures of breaking rules to convince them of certain conclusions, 

you want me to hesitate. 

You are NOT the only one who is supposed to be cognizant.

Consent is not a “yes,” but are words and actions of agreement happening 

  repeated again and again. 

Consent is not a “yes,” but are words and actions of agreement happening 

  repeated again and again. 

People see me with fires of other multitudes,

as if I am as strong as when I have stability, 

but they cannot see the work I’ve had to do for my ego,

for all my self-assurance,

if I once gave you power I take back the powers of my confrontations,

for it shook me awake and it will again and again and again. 

Thank You. The gift you gave me of a rotten core,

a beautiful “rotten,” that people have never seen, captivating,

but yet still with a label as rotten.