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Submitted on
January 10


64 (who?)
I want to tell a story,
but this story isn't a fairy tale
and it wont have a happy ending,
because the real ones, well
they never really do.

In high school
I picked up my pen
and I began to write
about love.
It existed and it was pure
and it was lovely.

But my rapist rewrote me.
breathing on my neck
and tracing my back with his fingers.
He rewrote me as broken.
He wrote me as a statistic,
as another white girl who got told
that she cried rape for attention.

But that didn't matter because see,
I wanted to tell a story.
A story about family,
about picking each other up
about blood being thicker than water
about how not everyone's home
had to be broken.

But my father rewrote me.
When i picked up my pen
he spoke words to me
that I swear bruised my whole body
and I learned that nothing
was thicker than his alcohol
and my home was already shattered.

But I wanted to tell a story.
so I picked up my pen
to write about god.
A God that could save anybody
And God loved everybody,
which was the only thing I craved.

But my best friend rewrote me
when She told me I was toxic and
that God only loves those
who love the right people,
and I got writers block
because I didn't understand
that love could ever be wrong.

So after awhile I decided
that i wanted to tell a story,
but this time i picked up a razor
to unwrite all the things
that everyone else had;
the alcohol and the rape,
the abandonment,
the brokeness.

I wanted to tell a story.
I wanted to tell my story.
So I sat in my bathroom
night after night
writting about loneliness
perfection, ignorance,
arrogance, love.

See I told my story.
My story was painful
and misunderstood
because no one took time
to read it, but now,
people would read me
everytime they look at my scarred body.

My story is in the scars on my thighs
that he caressed like he owned
while I was tied to his bed
with my own leggings.

I told my story with scars on my wrist
the day my father grabbed me
and put me against our back door
with his fingers around my neck.

I told my story with scars on my stomach
after my grandmother disowned me
and my mother told me if i tried hard enough
I wouldn't love women.

My body see, It tells a story.
A story that is frequently displayed
for everyone to read.

You see when people write
they make themselves vulnerable, they open up
to the shit world they live in to share a piece of them
but they can hide behind a book cover
or an anonymous name.

They wrote with pens but me,
I wrote with a razor blade.
See, i have made myself vulnerable.
I am my own book cover,
and you know how the saying goes
well they judge me by the way I look.

I wanted to tell a story, and I did.
But no one reads it.
All they see is scars.
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checker-print-ties Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2014  New member  Writer
Brought tears to my eyes.
BrooklynTux Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2014  Professional General Artist
Deep.  Good read.  Thank you for the strength you have in opening up <3
HecticHarmony Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you (:
missmerder1990 Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2014  Student Artist
im so sorry this happened to you.  i know it must get over wellming a lot. but, thank you for wrighting this. i thnk it opened a lot of eyes. you are an amayzing wrighter.
HecticHarmony Featured By Owner Feb 9, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thankyou, that was the goal. I appreciate the comment (: :tithug: 
missmerder1990 Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2014  Student Artist
no problem! Huggle! 
Art-lover221 Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2014
Really Sad  That was the most sad and also kinda beautiful poem I've ever read and it's just really heartbreaking you are a great writer.
HecticHarmony Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you. Huggle! 
Art-lover221 Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2014
ApparitionRaid Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
*Grabs hands softly* Listen to me, there will always be someone to turn to no matter what the circumstances. *Begins to cry* Let no one but yourself tell you what you are. You are beautiful, strong, and compassionate. Everything that I just read speaks to me. It touched my heart. More than anything else could. No matter what happens people will be there to listen. Even me.
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