The System is Broken

The SYSTEM is broken.

It is as broken as her wrist, her arm, her collarbone

Her Heart

Her Spirit.

Every 6 days in this country a woman is murdered by her abuser.

Tonight, more than 3400 women and over 2700 children will sleep in shelters

Because it is not safe at home.

300 more women will be turned away

Forced to roam the streets or worse

Go home.

The numbers do not lie. They tell us what we don’t want to see

With our eyes but know in our heart

How many more women must die?

The SYSTEM is chained

to a cinder block called tradition, formed by the philosophy

that comes from a history of misogyny that says,

All women are liars.

It is sinking in a pit of Patriarchy

Where every woman is scrutinized and scorned

Because she “asked for it”, she stayed, and she stayed silent.

The SYSTEM is ineffective in being protective

Of the women and children

Lost in the wasteland we call Family Law.

Ignoring the cries of the women who are only believed

To be crying wolf, we turn a blind eye while

Women are dying.

The SYSTEM knows no justice

Police don’t believe victims but blame them for their assault

Lawyers are cynical, judges are oblivious

About the realities of Domestic Violence;

In their cinderblock world Violence Against Women

Doesn’t exist.

The SYSTEM is obtuse

believing that if it is “so bad” she will leave.

But where can she go?

Shelters are few and far between,

Faced with poverty or violence

She will lie with the devil she knows even though

She owes him her life and any day now

He will collect.

The SYSTEM is bankrupt

Victim services and crisis workers make miracles happen every day

On a shoestring budget, they do more with less

While the number of deaths continues to rise

How many more women will die because

The man who loves her KILLS HER?

The SYSTEM is Capitalist

Seeing women only as consumable commodities

Valued only for the size of their tits

And their child bearing hips

Women and girls are not equal,

not seen as people

And so are not worthy of protection.

The SYSTEM is failing

When she stays she is blamed,

When she leaves she is shamed,

If she dares to take a risk

She is 6 times more likely to be killed by her abuser

Danger doesn’t end with a change of address.

The SYSTEM is sick

It’s time to burn it down to the ground

Fuel the fire with this oath:

Enough bruises and broken bones

Enough tears and trauma

Enough children left motherless.

From the ash we will rebuild with this promise:

I SEE you, I HEAR you

I BELIEVE you

The SYSTEM is broken

It is as broken as her wrist her arm her collarbone

Her heart

Her spirit

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Why We Need Slut Walk

Three years ago I founded Slut Walk Lanark County. I created a Facebook page and started getting the word out. I formed a committee to help organize our first event and recruit supporters. Many people I spoke with in the field of  advocating for women supported me and were excited to finally have a Slut Walk in our County. In September 2014 was launched at a Take Back The Night event in Carleton Place. The local newspaper wrote about it, and there was a small buzz created. But when it came time to organize the inaugural march, the community was not supportive. Businesses refused to sponsor the March or put posters up, schools would not allow me to come speak to students and some of the organizations that supported SWLC were threatened with funding being pulled if they associated themselves with SWLC. Though the need for Slut Walk was glaringly apparent in Lanark County, it was not supported and so, the inaugural march was postponed. Public education was going to be the focus of the local chapter with a view to organizing a march in the future.

The progress of creating public awareness about what Slut walk is about and why we need it in our County has been  slow and uphill. At other events meant to educate people about rape culture, domestic violence and gender based violence, I would be there, talking about Slut Walk and handing out pamphlets and posters. People were not receptive and even refused my posters because the word “Slut” was on them. This word is so offensive to people that they cannot even touch a paper with the word printed on it. This made me frustrated, no, angry, because women and girls are called Sluts every day and we have to just live with it, accept it as normal, as okay. But, it’s not!

There have been many movements addressing rape culture and violence against women: #YesAllWomen, #TheGhomeshiEffect, #IBelieveVictims, Slut Walk, HollaBack, Take Back the Night, to name a few. These movements are necessary, unfortunately, but not overly effective, obviously. Women are still being assaulted and raped, women still feel unsafe walking alone at night (or in the daytime, in public, really), women and girls are sexualized and objectified, we are slut shamed and blamed, cat called and groped etc. We are told that “boys will be boys” and we shouldn’t take it so personally. We are told to dress in a way to not draw attention to ourselves, to our breasts or buttocks, our legs or tummies.  We are taught how to protect ourselves if we are attacked, to carry our keys between our fingers, to check under and inside our cars  before getting in them. We are accused of lying when we report assault or rape. Women are not valued, not protected, not believed. We are not equal; in 2017 women are not viewed as anything more than sex objects and body parts. This makes me furious.

A friend wrote on her Facebook timeline about her thirteen year old daughter and friend being cat called and verbally assaulted while walking home from the store. The girls were so shocked by what was being shouted across the road at them they could not react. When the men became more aggressive in their language, calling them sluts and whores, the girls became frightened and ran the rest of the way home. My friend had to console and reassure these frightened and confused girls, which was difficult. But, even more difficult, she had to speak to them about how to protect themselves next time this happens, because it will happen again. And again. And again. Reading her post, tears filled my eyes as I felt so sorry for these girls having to experience this. My tears burned my eyes and then anger, no rage, burned my heart, my gut. This should not be happening! Not just in our community, but anywhere. Girls should not be subjected to the whims of men who think they own girls’ bodies and have a right to leer at them and call out obscenities.

When I was promoting the inaugural march for Slut Walk Lanark County, many people, some of them friends, complained about the name. There was much debate about the name of Slut Walk and even with explanation and information, people, mostly women, expressed a strong dislike for the name. They were offended over the word “Slut” and wondered why this word had to be used; is repulsive and crude. And they are right about that, it is. And women know because we hear it thousands of times during our life as boys and men hurl it at us as an insult or threat, other girls and women use it accusingly to judge and belittle one another, police officers and lawyers and judges use it to diminish the claims of sexual assault and rape, making it the victim’s fault. Women hear the word Slut and worse so many times in our lives that we almost accept it as part of the landscape of womanhood. But, this apathy, this acceptance is dangerous. It allows men to continue to sexualize and objectify us, our daughters, our sisters, our mothers our friends… We must not tolerate this language, this behaviour any longer. We must stand in Solidarity and fight back.

Rural communities are less forward thinking than urban areas. The exposure to diversity and social justice is very limited. The moral codes and social norms are often carried over from the previous generations because things have “always been this way” and so they are accepted as correct. People don’t speak out against racism, homophobia, misogyny etc. because much of the time they don’t even recognize it for what it is. Slut shaming and victim blaming is what happens when a woman is assaulted; obviously she was asking for it. Look how she was dressed, where she was, how much she drank, her reputation, etc., etc., ad nauseam. Much of the time, girls and women don’t even realize they have been assaulted or raped, or if they do, they don’t report it because they either don’t think they have a right to protection or they don’t think they will be believed. Women live in domestic violence and don’t even realise that they do not have to live with violence because they witnessed it growing up or have been experiencing abuse most of their lives. Domestic violence is their normal. Girls are taught that their value weighs heavily on whether or not they have a boyfriend and, later on, a husband, because they are not valuable in their own right.

This is why I founded Slut walk Lanark County. This is why I sit on the Sexual Assault/Domestic Violence Committee, why I sit on the board for Peggy’s House, why I volunteer at Interval House. This is why I show up and speak out. I grew up in this community and I have raised my children here. I lived within the bubble filled with rape culture and homophobia and misogyny. But I did not teach my children to accept these things; I taught them to be different, to be advocates for themselves and others, to be feminists.

Feminism needs to be taught in schools, modelled and demonstrated. Parents need to teach their children that all people are equal and have a right to be treated with dignity and respect. Generational views that are patriarchal and misogynist must not be carried on, but called what they are and abandoned. The only way we are truly going to keep girls and women safe is to accept nothing less than absolute equality. I feel sick knowing that my girls have grown up in rape culture. I am disheartened that younger girls are still growing up in it and that adults are still allowing it to happen. However, I am also infuriated by this and so the fire in my gut burns strong and I will continue to stand in Solidarity with women and girls. I will keep marching, keep talking, keep advocating until there is no need for me to do so.

My motivation is this: wouldn’t it be amazing if my granddaughter didn’t know what rape culture was? Or my great-granddaughter only learned about it in her sociology class as part of the history of Feminism? Wouldn’t it be a dream come true to live in a world that is Feminist? “You may call me a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.” (John Lennon) So, this is a call to all the other Dreamers out there; raise your voice, move your feet and let’s smash the Patriarchy and end rape culture!

No, I can’t “just get over it.”

I read It’s Time: Canada’s National Strategy to Prevent and Address Gender-based Violence today. I was part of the development of this Strategy, with a group of other strong and determined Survivors. We met over the course of a year to discuss our experiences in the Family Law, Criminal and Civil Court systems, as well as our experiences with social service agencies and child protection agencies. We culminated our accounts, thoughts and experiences, along with comprehensive recommendations, in to a report that was presented to the Minister of the Status of Women earlier this year. So, I was very curious and eager to read the report, particularly because our group, Believe/Croyez has been selected  from a National pool of other advocacy groups, who also provided reports of their own, with the hopes of being selected to work with the government in making this Strategy become a reality. Believe/Croyez will receive grant money to put our recommendations in to action and change the landscape of gender-based violence in this country, with a view to ending it.

So many parts of the report had me feeling hopeful and reassured; finally, it seems, the government is listening. Finally, we have a plan and that is a very good start. Something really struck me, though. A paragraph that says, “Violence can have life-long impacts on an individual’s physical, mental, sexual and reproductive health. Impacts can include physical injury and death, disabilities- including depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder- as well as sexually transmitted infections, unintended pregnancy, miscarriage, substance use, absence from school or work, job loss and social isolation.”  This is more true than anyone can know. I have often said, in an effort to lighten a very heavy mood when speaking about my own experiences, that domestic violence is the gift that keeps on giving. Just when a woman thinks she’s turned a corner, there seems to always be yet another road block for her to overcome. Being a victim is traumatizing , life threatening and life changing, but just because you’re “out” doesn’t mean it’s over.

Speaking for myself and, if I may, my children, we are still coping with the aftermath of my abusive marriage. I left my husband July 21, 2004, and still today, the shadows of Jason’s abuse hangs over us. We all have a degree of PTSD, depression and anxiety. We have all sustained physical, emotional and psychological injury from our abuser, causing us to miss work, school, become isolated from friends and family at times and, when we just couldn’t figure out a way to connect, from each other. I would often miss work in the early days of my separation due to lawyers’ meetings, court dates, doctor’s  and counselling appointments for my kids. But there were also times I missed work because the fear of leaving my house was so great, I couldn’t get myself through the door. The anxiety I felt being away from my children and not knowing for sure they were safe would have me keeping my children home from school for movie days, making ice cream sundaes while avoiding their questions about why they “got to” stay home today.

Often I would stay home rather than going out with friends because I just couldn’t handle their questions or worse, their lack of questions. They did not understand what I was experiencing and did not know how to support me. Seeing them living their “normal” lives was so painful for me; I felt like a failure in so many ways, it was just easier to make excuses and stay home. At times, friends just stopped inviting me, and I knew they were excluding me, but I didn’t blame them. I wasn’t much fun to be around with my anger and paranoia, my guilt and jealousy. Home with my babies was where I wanted to be and in spending so much time with my children, in keeping us all so close together, I created an isolation and a co-dependency that would later cause a rift in the family that I am not sure we (I) will ever be able to repair. My eldest daughter has left home, has stopped speaking to me and, while my heart is broken, I understand her motivation completely. She needs to separate herself from all that reminds her of the pain and hurt that was her childhood.

I suffer from PTSD, OCD, Anxiety and Depression… I never realized a person could have all of these diagnoses until I was awarded them, like a prize for “worst dressed” at a red carpet event. These are all badges I wear and the pin pricks in my skin where the various cocktails of medication do not numb their sharp points are reminders that while my marriage is long over, the effects of it are not. I am prone to self-medication with alcohol and, on occasion, recreational drugs. I have rituals that must be completed daily (hourly, minute-by-minute depending on my anxiety level)  some of which, my children can tell you,  are extreme and, for them, invasive. They have never enjoyed me vacuuming and mopping the floors and even less so when the vacuum is turned on while they are sleeping or trying to watch TV. I do both of these things daily, sometimes four or five times a day at my most anxious. There have been times where I have not slept for days and other times when its all I could do to get out of bed. Some say it is a testament to my strength that I always did get out of bed, but it was not so much my strength as my guilt, knowing I owed it to my kids to get out of bed and make the best effort I could to parent them. There were many days I went back to bed after I got the kids to school and stayed there until it was time to pick them up again.

I also have chronic pain in my back and chronic sciatica. I am told the injuries are those consistent with those a person would sustain from repeated hard falls to the floor on one’s bum. The vertebra in my back have been compressed to the point that I have bulging discs and deterioration, and the sacrum and pelvic bones have been damaged and this causes chronic sciatica. I was not a particularly clumsy child, according to my father, and I am 99% sure these injuries are from literally being knocked on my ass by my husband on many occasions. The pain is never completely fades, no matter how many pharmaceutical drugs my doctors prescribe, or how much alcohol I drink. The constant burning and ache are always there, reminding me of the trauma I survived. The pain keeps me prisoner in a cage of resentment, knowing that it will never get any better and I will never truly be free of “him”.

The choices I made, to leave twelve times and go back thirteen, were made in desperation and a will to protect my babies and try to make the best of a marriage doomed to fail. Even in leaving for the final time, I knew it would not be over just because I vowed to never go back, putting borders and country between us, to guarantee it. I knew he would come for me, and he did. Ten years of courts, lawyers, negotiations, left me bankrupt and living in a deeper poverty pit than I ever imagined. The stalking, threats, break and entering, dozens of daily emails kept me feeling afraid for my life and made it impossible for me to be completely present in any given moment. I lived in a state of hyper vigilance for so many years, that my body could not withstand the stress and so I now have fibromyalgia , a painful, difficult disorder that exacerbates the pain I already live with. I have  a sleep disorder that keeps me from falling in to R.E.M. which is required to repair and restore your body. I rarely wake up feeling refreshed.

Still when I go near the Perth Courthouse, I can feel the bile of fear rising in my throat. My hands get clammy, my stomach turns and tears well up in my eyes. When I receive an email from Jason, I still feel anxious and afraid, just seeing his name in my inbox. I received a note from my daughter’s orthodontist last week and it had a hand written note from Jason on it. Seeing his hand writing gave me such a jolt I dropped the paper. I put the letter away; I’ll come back to it when I feel I can. Isn’t that pathetic?

Strength, composure, competence is what people see when I meet them. I dress nicely, I do my hair and my make up daily. I present myself to the world as a Survivor who has overcome her demons and is moving forward in her life. And I am, moving forward. But the demons are at my back, talking in my ear, reminding me that I failed to protect my children, that their pain is my fault, that the future is non-existent.

I separated from my abuser July 21, 2004. I packed up my children and pugs and fled in the night, back to my hometowns to escape. We did not escape. And though court matters have been settled since August 5, 2015, the aftermath and the effects of my marriage are still with me. I will always be “surviving”. My children have a future ahead of them that sometimes seems out of reach, but I will always be there to encourage and support them. Their road is longer and perhaps more treacherous than most and I blame myself for much of that. So, when people say, “It’s been thirteen years. Can’t you just get over it?” I tell them, “No. I can’t.” I cannot just get over it because it’s not over for me. It never will be. That’s the reality of domestic violence. Leaving is not the end. It’s just the beginning of another journey filled with pain, fear and guilt. We Survivors are stronger than anyone, except another Survivor,  can ever really know. We put one foot in front of the other every single day, looking a head to a future we sometimes don’t even trust is there. We cannot get over it. It changed our lives, changed who we were and who we could have become. We wear the badge of Survivor without ever having had the choice to not. Our physical, mental, emotional and financial wellness is fleeting, inconsistent and unpredictable. So don’t ask me why I can’t “just get over it.” This is now my life. And the only way to “get over it” is to end it. That is the raw, unsugarcoated, truth. Society doesn’t want to hear this and for decades the trauma of domestic violence was ignored, swept under the rug. But, now we have a strategy, a plan. I was part of that and that is so empowering.

The path I’m on now is exactly where I want to be, speaking out and advocating to end violence against women. I will keep working toward this, keep fighting and keep lending my voice to those who don’t yet know they have their own. I Believe/Croyez we can end violence against women.

 

 

What Women Want

I have been advocating in a volunteer capacity for many years, working alongside other advocates and agencies to educate people in our community about Domestic Violence, gender based violence and Rape Culture. People ask me all the time why do I do  this work? Why do I continue to identify as a Survivor of DV and Rape? Can’t I just get over it? The simplest answer is, “No.”

I can’t “get over it” because being assaulted changes you. It changes who you were and who you  could have become. It changes everything about your life, even though from the outside everything looks the same, normal, it’s not. Because you’re not. 

I can’t stop advocating, joining committees and Advisory Boards because women are still being abused and murdered by their partners, women are still being raped and women and those who identify as a woman are still at risk of gender based violence every day. And it makes me angry, furious, in fact, when I hear stories from women with the same underlying theme: women are not valued. Women are viewed as sexual objects who are in existence for the pleasure of men. That sounds harsh to some people, but it’s the truth and it’s about time we just called the Patriarchy and Misogyny out and brought them into the light and call them what they are. I am so frustrated that still women live  in fear just because of their gender; it’s not right. I don’t know what has to be done to wake  people up and demand change in the systems and schools of thought that  continue to keep women down with the heel of misogyny on their throats. But I want a Revolution. I want to see women marching in our streets and their empathetic men along with them, demanding that the government stop creating committees and studies on this “issue” and actually do something. I want to see people calling abuse and rape exactly what it is and calling it out when they see it and doing something about it. I want children to be empowered to say, “No,” to uninvited or unwanted touching. I want girls to know that their body is theirs and they, and only they, decide what happens to it. I want boys to know it’s okay to cry, to get mushy over puppies and kittens and to express their feelings because they are allowed to have feelings. I want gender stereotypes to no longer be perpetuated and people to be seen as the human beings that they are; not just as colours or genitalia. 

The judicial system is not effective in addressing the issues either because the Judges and lawyers are not trained to appropriately handle cases of violence against women. We have judges telling women to keep their knees together, lawyers who are indifferent to the victims of these crimes, police who do not believe women and make them feel like they are liars. The prison system is ineffective, if the perpetrators even get jail time, and it  does nothing to address the cause(s) for men committing these violent acts.  Nothing is done to rehabilitate them or teach them how to be healthy instead of harmful. They come out of prison even more angry and violent and continue the cycle over and over. People think the “justice system” will be the end all be all, but it’s not. The system revictimizes women and children, punishes men and treats them like pariahs, causing irreparable emotional and psychological damage. There is no “justice” for a victim of DV or Rape.

Almost thirteen years ago, I fled the USA with my three children to get away from out abuser. The system that was supposed to help us and protect us failed miserably. Our abuser was enabled by the system to continually stalk, harass and financially abuse us. My children spent most of their childhood knowing about court dates and lawyers and police reports and visits from social workers. They were traumatized over and over by the very institutions that were supposed to protect them. 

And children are still going through this every day. Mothers are still struggling to protect their children and themselves and not just from their abusers, but from systems that are broken, ineffective and callous. This has to change. We need specialized DV courts with trained lawyers and judges and we need lawyers for victims. We need police to be trained in DV and sexual assault so women don’t feel harassed or disbelieved when they report. We need society to stop treating women and girls as commodities, objects to be used up and thrown away. Women must be believed when they report abuse and rape. Society needs to see women and girls as people with human rights that should be protected and upheld just as they are for men. Women need to support one another and lift each other up. We need to stand together against the Patriarchy and misogyny. It’s not enough to wear a pin or button. We have to act. We have to make change happen because it clearly is not going to happen organically. These have been issues since the beginning of time. Perhaps the best this we can do is stop calling Domestic Violence and Violence against Women “women’s issues” and recognize they are Human Rights issues.

 At the end of the day, what women want is Fundamental Rights. The same rights men are afforded just by being born with a penis.  It sounds so simple, yet it’s been the most deadly and devastating battle in history. 

International Women’s Day 

Today I wear red in solidarity with women around the world  living in a world that undervalues and underestimates us. We are murdered by our male partners, raped and assaulted, harassed and catcalled. We are paid less than our male counterparts for the same work, we are denied education and  denied access to services. We are denied justice in the courts and are revictimized by a system that blames us for being  victims and does not believe us. We live in poverty and fear and despair. Still,  we stand, we fight, we move forward.

Women are the givers of life, the force that that keeps this world moving forward, even if it means our death. Women are the elders, the caregivers, the mothers, daughters, sisters and friends that people turn to for love, compassion and strength. Yet, we are held back, pushed down and murdered because of our gender (identification). Still, we stand, we fight, we move forward.

Women are entrepreneurs, artists, advocates and activists.  We are Survivors. In a world that tells us we are equal, but marginalizes and oppresses us. Still, we stand, we fight, we move forward. 

Every woman is a Survivor of something in a world that does not truly value us. Today, remember that you are a Survivor. Celebrate you and take care of you. Reflect and remind yourself that you are important, you are a gift to this world. 

To all Women and those who identify as such, stand tall today and feel the power within yourself. Keep fighting, in whatever way you do, for equality and justice. The world needs you. Women and girls need you. Today we stand together and make the world take notice and feel our power and see our determination to make this world safe for all of us. Today we stand, we fight, we move forward. 

Happy International Women’s Day!

March 2

Today is the 9th anniversary of my divorce from Jason. Yes, 9th. People wonder why I continue to acknowledge this day, question why I celebrate this day and mark it as a milestone in my journey. Anyone who has escaped an abusive partner knows, that cutting the ties is so important to taking back your life, establishing autonomy and claiming your power. Receiving the divorce decree in my mailbox was one of the best days of my life and I will never forget the feeling of pure joy and vindication I felt when I opened the envelope.

I have been participating in a number of new initiatives to address and combat violence against women and rape culture in my community. One of the most validating engagements was being asked to tell my story and share my experiences in the Family and Criminal courts. Lanark County is trying to get funding for an expansion on our courthouse and have a designated Domestic Violence Court to address the high incidences of domestic violence in our communities. Being asked as a Survivor to speak to a researcher and offer my recommendations regarding the current Systems and the functionality of the courthouse itself in regards to safety for victims was very validating. Not only did it affirm for me that it is okay to speak about my experience, but also that my experiences, my knowledge and my opinions matter. This is very empowering.

As a Survivor of domestic violence and sexual assault, I am often called upon to share my story, support victims and join advisory boards and advocacy committees. I love that I am able to support and empower other women to find the strength they have within themselves to move from victim to survivor. I take my role as a board member and committee member very seriously and I advocate with intention and ferocity. I will not stop advocating until there is no longer a need to do so. When women can live in safety, without fear of abuse or assault, can navigate the world with true equality and autonomy.

March 2 is an important day in my life as it marks my freedom, the severing of ties to my abuser. March 8 is International Woman’s Day and I will be celebrating that day by striking, participating in the No Women for a Day protest. I hope that other women will also participate and support and encourage other women in doing so as well.

Today is a happy day for me. A day that I feel powerful, reflective and strong. Today is a great day.

 

 

Black Heart

Habits are sometimes formed without being noticed
without knowing that the behaviour,
the the thought processes or patterns are
being ingrained into our lives.
The way we interact with people or
think of ourselves,
the way we allow people to treat us or
the things we do
to ourselves
come from a place of such familiarity
that we don’t even realize we are doing it.
Sometimes patterns are so much a fabric of our being
that we cannot navigate the world without them.
Even when we think we have broken them, started fresh, cleansed ourselves,
purged the blackness from our hearts,
the basis for them is still there and is transferred to something,
or someone, else.
And the habit repeats, returns, looking like a new behaviour
but it is still the same blackness
just packaged differently,
disguised from ourselves so we don’t realize that
we have once again become
Addicted.
You are my addiction,
my blackness,
the evil that I once had controlling my life
that stole from me my strength
My dignity
My self respect.
Like heroine coursing through my veins
I crave you and the way you make me cringe
and feel worthless
The way you steal away my Joy and
make me long for Hope.
My body aches to feel you touch  me with tenderness
while my mind knows your touch will only
leave bruises, jagged track marks from your cruel words
that prick my skin
Seeping into my blood and turning everything inside
dark and sad.
You are familiar to me,
with your lies and gaslighting
Your smooth voice and your empty promises.
I know you,
I remember from a past I try to forget,
but cannot.
This pain, this longing for something,
anything else,
other than the gaping black hole inside me where my heart once was
before he soiled it.
You make me remember how it feels to be small,
to be lied to and laughed at.
You make me remember that I’m
Unlovable,
Unworthy,
Unimportant
Not good enough.
You with your perfect words that make me forget
for a moment
how I was lying crumpled on the floor,
destroyed by your callousness,
just moments ago;
You are familiar to me.
I remember this, I know how to live like this
I know how to be
Broken.
I want to forget.
I want to unlearn this self loathing,
this emptiness.
I don’t want to live within the familiar anymore.
I don’t want to need this fix,
jonesing for a hit, that will drop me to the floor,
devastated
by your indifference
I have to give you up, get over you,
get you out of my head, my veins, my heart!
I need to stop needing this fix that never makes it right
but only keeps me feeling
wrong
about everything.
You are familiar to me
because you are just like him
and I don’t want to be the me that was Her,
the bruised and broken one
without Hope.
I want to be the me that walked with purpose,
that was okay being on her own and knew
Exactly whose eyes she was looking into each morning in the mirror.
I want myself back,
with a heart painted red
Not black.