This isn't a poem, nor is it an essay. Call it something in between

We aren't playing the same game.

I was robbed of all of my faculties as a child.

I suppose I don't know if I ever had them to begin with, though.

Let's discuss emotion.

I am human, I think. I can't prove it, but I bleed, and I hurt, and I cry and scream. An average day for me as a teenager meant feeling the full range of emotions: Fear, agony, sadness, and hopelessness.

Since then, I've been distracting myself from perpetual emptiness with sex and desire.

I want to be seen. I want to be accepted, but sex is salvation.

Yearning for something that isn't capable of ever seeing me, let alone understanding or accepting. I want to feel alive, for longer than 10 minutes at a time, or whenever you decide to respond to my text. Give me feeling, I give you access.

Untitled poem // 9

I only know love when it hurts 

Lacks loyalty, or keeps me up at night

Reminds me that I am not actually one of a kind 

It will take advantage of my feeble mind 

And destroy my entire life

I fall into the dark pit of your desire 

I will let you invade every part of who I am

Make me into the girl of your dreams 

Whatever you want

This is the so called privilege of my love

I am capable of being whatever it is you like

At the mere expense of my humanity