we’re all stardust

alive

blooming

like seedlings in the spring

echoing, calling, sobbing

down into the echoes of long forgotten gods

aching where my heart once was

hollowed out from the inside

blooming bustling buds of new life

sprouting in my cavities

new life

new beginnings

a new baby

i am my baby

i am my mother

i am my father

aching chest

my thoughts are loud

and overbearing

over-consuming my body

eaten alive, i drip from your fingers

nothing but the rind left behind.

nothing but tough skin and bitter flesh

ebbing and flowing

i am the catalyst

for my destruction

and for my glory.

nobody is coming for me

nobody will save me.

heavy tw on SA/rape mentions

I’ve spent countless hours reflecting on our last interaction. I’ve listened back to our therapy session many times. I’ve played it back to friends, and I’ve told other therapists about it verbatim. I know you life hasn’t changed despite knowing the atrocities my father has committed upon me. But mine has. It will forever be changed due to his actions, and your inability to act. Your inability to protect your one and only child.

I do not blame you wholeheartedly for his actions. I blame him for his actions. He did not need to rape and molest me. He did not need to harm me. He chose to do those things to me. Over, and over again.

You, however, chose to turn a blind eye. Maybe you didn’t know when I was young, maybe you hadn’t seen the signs. But I told you when I was 16.

I told you again when I was 18.

And again when I was 20.

And again when I was 23.

And again when I was 24.

And again when I was 25.

When I was 26.

And now when I’m 27.

You claim to “need time to process” what I’ve told you, but you’ve had now 11 years to process it. You’d have had even longer to process if you had taken heed to [NAME]’s warning about my father when I was 10. She told you then she thought something sinister was happening and you didn’t believe her.

I could understand you maybe not wanting to then, but continually denying your daughter safety when I told you myself that he was hurting me.

You chose money over my safety.

You chose drugs over my safety.

You chose a pedophile and a rapist over my safety.

You chose your own abuser over your daughter.

I feel sympathy for you, to a degree. Perhaps even pity. You and I are a lot alike. I think that’s why you don’t like me. I think you see what you could’ve been in me. I’m nearly 28 years old and I’m not saddled down to an abusive man and a 9 year old. I wasn’t unknowingly forced to take responsibility for a child of a man who claimed he “knew you’d be the mother of his children” when you were on a date with a woman.

Not the love of his life.

Not the woman he was going to marry.

But the woman he was going to fuck and impregnate.

How romantic.

He told me that story, I used to think it was romantic.

I think it’s pretty fucking sick now, though. That your sexuality was ignored, and the fact that he pursued anyway despite not knowing any better if you were a lesbian or not. Deciding that the first thought that went through his mind was that he wanted to put his dick in you. Not that you were pretty, or seemed interesting, or that you were someone he had an immediate connection with: but someone he wanted to stick his dick in.

I think he stayed with you because you were insecure and vulnerable.

That wasn’t your fault.

He took advantage of you.

However, what is your fault is the outcome of our relationship.

I’ve given you hundreds of chances to prove to me that I matter more than a pedophile and you’ve disappointed me every single time.

I have sympathy for you, I know you’re a victim of his as well.

But I’m a victim of yours, as well as his.

And I can’t continue allowing somebody who’s fully supportive of the man who ruined my life. I have sympathy for you, but not enough to hurt myself for your benefit.

I don’t deserve to have a mother who can’t even love me enough to separate from a pedophile. You said it yourself in our therapy session that you believe he was molesting me. I can get the clip of you saying that if you don’t believe me, because I know you’re love to backtrack when I tell you anything you’ve said.

But you said that. You said you believed me when I say he molested me.

If you believe that, why’s it so hard to believe he wouldn’t take it a step further?

Why’s it so hard to believe your own daughter?

You frame me as a liar because he’s framed me as one. Anytime you claim I’m a liar, you can never bring up proof of me lying aside from stupid white lies I told in highschool to avoid getting in trouble.

I wish you loved me. I wish you loved me the way I do.

I sit up all night thinking about how distraught and disappointed I am in how our relationship turned out. I’m even up writing this fucking letter I’m never going to send to you at 7:18am on a thursday morning, I never fucking slept.

I haven’t slept. I’ve been so sick and tonight wasn’t any different.

I’ve been crying all night

Everything feels like it’s spiralling and I wish I had a mother in my life that actually gave a shit about me and didn’t just try to manipulate me into liking her. I wish I had a mother who cared about me and was actually willing to make sacrifices for her daughter. I hope someday I have a daughter like me because I was so easy to love.

I was just a little girl looking to be loved, and looking to be safe; and you couldn’t even do that for me.

You couldn’t even support me when the same shit that happened to you,

happened to me.

You got molested

you got raped

but at least your family supported you

I got molested

and I got raped

but my family turned their backs on me.

I wouldn’t care so much if it was everyone but you, but even you turned your back on me.

I think what hurts the most about this is that I thought you and I were special. I thought because you and I were victims of his, we had a special bond. We had something that nobody else could break up— but I was wrong. You turned your back on me and you only ever look in my direction when you think you can manipulate me back into your life. You don’t face me to love me. You face me for your own benefit. For your own image; because if I’m speaking to you, and if I keep speaking to you… what I went though couldn’t be that bad.

Why would I ever speak to you or him again if it was?

I wish I could take all of my pain, and all of my suffering, and all of my memories, and all of my sickness, put it all in a box and ship it to you.

I used to say I wouldn’t ever wish how I feel on anyone, but I would wish it upon you and him. I wish I didn’t feel this way. I wish I just had a normal set of parents, but his hands haunt me every night. I can’t sleep.

I can’t eat.

I can’t think.

I can’t do anything.

He disabled me.

He ruined me.

He used to speak about how I’m just undateable, but he made me this way.

He made me undateable.

He made me unfuckable.

Maybe that was his goal this whole time.

Maybe he wanted that.

I want this to end.

head bowed

and hands clasped

i prayed into an empty room.

i begged for help

in my darkest hour

i begged for someone to hear my cries

and yet they fell on deaf ears

a deep sense of aloneness

shame

embarrassment

filling the room

thickening air

i gasp for a breath

He doesn’t care

Amen.

pleading,

PLEADING for something

that was never mine.

the warmth of your uterus

to the coldness of your arms.

the disdain.

the wrath.

i can’t blame you;

but i can’t forgive you either.

pressed sheets,

organised closet,

screams echoing

through the house.

quiet as a mouse.

turn a blind eye.

dad, that hurts.

hush

hush

two sides of the same coin,

we share the same face

your mind,

your voice

your eyes

your lips

your cheekbones

what i once thought was beauty

is now tainted in your memory

what was once sacred

is now desecrated.

and i

alone

was left to pick up the pieces.

while you plunge your hands into cold water

on a hot summers day

your phantom hands all over me despite how long it’s been since your hands have cursed my flesh

i fight the urge to cut the feeling off my skin,

but fear of being found is heavier than the urge i have to bleed the shame out of my veins.

i’ve been told that things get better with time, but i’ve only felt heavier.

nearly 30, and i feel as though im 13 all over again.

scared and confused, with a need to scream and fight for the life that was stolen from me.

up all night to protect myself from you, despite the danger is long since passed.

i’m lost in a world that was built to be against me.

maybe in my next life i will not know the pain in which i have suffered in this life.

maybe in my next life i will be loved.

maybe i will not suffer.

maybe i will fly.

in the dead of night

and while the frogs croak

from the storm that just passed.

vomit tickles the back of my throat

unwillingly thinking of you.

i hope the guilt rots your insides

the way shame eats away at mine.

i hope you never have a moment of peace

the way i never get a moment of peace.

i don’t hope that you suffer the same way you made me suffer all those years.

i yearn for what i do not have.

my body aches for a life it’s not known

for love it’s never felt.

sludge spills from my lips

it drips down my thighs

my insides are filthy

why did you choose me?

of everyone in this world, why your own child? why?

whilst trapped in a cage

my reflection

staring back at me

she knows your secrets

and my shame carries them

yearning for warmth

when all i’ve known is ice;

nobody’s daughter

abandoned by my kin

they knew there were wolves

and did nothing to stop them

from feasting on my body

night after night.

always somebody’s daughter

never a human being.

who i was once

was buried alive

suffocated

in the lies you spun.

speak when spoken to

how was i to speak

when never spoken to.

amalgamation

“you look just like your mom

when she was young”

dizzy from your excuses.

rotting from your choices.

i’m just so tired.

i’m so tired

i’m tired

i’m tjerf

i’m

yearning for a warmth

i’ve never felt before

sticking my fingers

into the melted wax,

it burns but it’s warm.

burning flesh

blisters and maggots

fingers rotten to my bone

tired

cold

heavy eyes

sinking stomach

swallowing nails

one

by

one

fed to me

by the tips of your fingers

piercing, blood erupting

maggots in my belly

eating away at the rot

you left inside me

wretched whispers

your hot breath in my ear

our chests bound

not only by greed

but by blood.

vomit

pain

you were meant to keep me safe

but you fed me nails