Daily Scribbles

Was it love or a power trip? You say it like a beautiful gift then take it back when I don't bend. I've been played for a doll, treated as a puppet to make dance, but I am not the toy you wanted. Spread whatever lies make you feel big, but you didn't break me, only reopened old wounds you knew of. Don't try and throw your farce in my face, you can't hurt me any longer and you're dictatorship isn't a relationship.

Here's my handwritten copy of Emotional Abuse (cuz I like showing off my sloppy handwriting for some reason)

Brick walls didn't keep out the wolf so I reinforced glass with steel and thought I made myself wholly safe. Along comes a bear who acts as a teddy to cuddle and love and care for, but when I open the doors of my fortress claws are dug into my soul. Love is a lie that burns my ears, a poison I vomit off my tongue so the charade may never end. But too many tears spill off my cheeks until I need to run or I'm going to drown in the sorrow this beast feeds on.

Or maybe I won’t wake up because I took every word to heart; I truly am a worthless piece of trash who only seeks attention…

I trusted the teddy bear who called it love even as I was back with the wolf. Soft though fur may be there still lurk such sharp claws which rip and tear with abandon when a temper tantrum surfaces. It isn't love when you are ignored, when they take anger out on you, when you are called names so you feel weak and afraid. So why'd I believe the lie...? The wolf had already left his mark and I trusted the bear with those scars but bears are no less dangerous than wolves as evidenced by these bleeding wounds. No more predators who make that violence beautiful, that make it seem cute until they leave your heart on the floor.

Don't trust the wolf even if he knocks at your door and says the prettiest things to get past your walls and into your pants. Don't trust the bear who calls you his one and only because it's just another lie to make him your only one. Their names shows you the beast they so poorly hide under human flesh but they just wish to break you so they are strong.

You said the word love like it was a holy gift bestowed upon me from your heart. I said love like an obligation, forcing the word up past years of scar tissue and into your ear like the gift it was. I would have made an effort to fix the destruction laid at our feet but you decided love was always a lie when spoken from a liar's tongue. I would have listened had you spoken to me as an adult rather than leaving me to twist in the wind. I would have let you be until you ruined it for yourself had my safe space not felt invaded, if you hadn't tried to attack when I couldn't see to defend myself. Love should not be used as a weapon just to get your way and manipulate those who return the word. Love was not a gift from you, only a curse laid on my heart to thicken the scars already littered about.

I'm sorry it ended this way but you had your chances and squandered them all away.

Call me nice if you want but I will chew you up just to spit you out. My tongue is sharper than a razor and I use it for more than just good. I protect those who matter but if you become my enemy be prepared to be immortalized but you won't like the story I tell. I am the villain I own that label because villains will always be better. My story just isn't pretty enough to follow a hero's path darker than the smoke you breathe in and deeper than the ocean of tears I'll drown you in.

I'm not some doll for you to put on a shelf, Only taking me down when it suits you, When you need to amuse yourself and friends. I'm not some puppet With silken strings to pull on a whim; I will not dance to your tune. I found my own magic spell, Found the strength to be myself, Burned the strings she once tied to my limbs, Neve going back to being a plaything. Put me on a pedestal And I'll break all the things around me. Tie strings at my joints And I'll laugh as I singe your fingers. Good luck finding someone as good as me.

I’m done playing this petty game So man up Or fuck off.

Sorry is all I have to offer. Sorry for being broken. Sorry for the sticky glue that clings to your skin. Sorry for the sharp edges that will cut too deep. Sorry for the roller coaster I never asked to ride. These thoughts spin around like a damn carousel. Maybe if I say it enough times I'll stop making the same mistakes. Maybe if I mean it just a little more I won't need forgiveness any longer. I don't know how to turn this off, how to stop the Mary-go-round built inside my head. Sometimes my sorries make me want to say goodbye so I no longer have to be a burden, no longer weigh you down from who you want to be. As many times as I've considered taking a step into traffic or driving my car into a cliff face, I've never done anything close. This skin is unblemished except by other forces. I opened tiny stories into my flesh, yet they fade like the memories of what was once considered love. Maybe this time will be deep enough that everyone can see who I am under pretty skin...

How deep do I have to go before I no longer feel a thing? Should I just remove these hands that touched too many under the covers unwillingly? Pressure is not consent. If I said no, you would cheat or leave or rage. Sex is not love, but sex can be intimacy. I'm don't doing these things just to satisfy another. I'm not here to rub one out for you when you can't do it yourself. I may be beautiful, but that is not consent. Dating is not consent. Threats are not consent. So why in the world did I ever say yes to those boys...?

These wrists whisper to me, remind me of the place I once was. No visible scars remain but my experience is no less valid. He may have never hit me, but that would have hurt less. How do I not become the monster he created? I am nothing more than Frankenstein's monster! He created this needy creature who doesn't know how to survive on their own once someone comes close. There are raggedy stitches holding me together. I have singed puppet strings hanging from my wrists and ankles from how well she played me. Tie them a little tighter, cut off circulation so I no longer have to feel the hands that held theirs. Wrap a noose around my throat so you can watch me thrash in a panic. I'm nothing more than a monster, a doll to discard. You may see me as not, but these habits remain too many years after I've run from the careless fools who created me.

Dry throat spitting out half formed words. Ignore the rasp of disuse. These words are flowing like a spigot left too long to the elements. Start and stop and start. Push at the back of the mind to release. There will be no sticky substance on my fingers tonight. Imaging closeness and intimacy that once scared me but now causes a thrill. Why be scared when it feels this good? Right now I’m relishing these feelings, letting them settle in my gut and rush from my fingertips. Running scared is always an option, but the last resort one. This feels good, safe, secure. We are full of possibilities, regardless of the past the has damaged our softness. Scar tissue builds and hardens, but does not destroy that was once there.