Letters from sixteen

Nonsense on a september night

A poem collection of late night ramblings.
TW: CSA/addiction/eating disorders

Remember that summer
I miss feeling clean.
It seems I always feel dirty, I can scrub my skin red and the feeling remains.
I wish I could pull the knots out, I wish I could vomit it out of me.
Something about the aching of my throat felt pure.
I miss it really, I hate what bulimia did to me but it's hard to let go of something that left me feeling so empty.
Nothing feels quite like laying on the bathroom tile and feeling the cold on your skin.
My round face doesn't fit the part, I am no longer in that position, but it doesn't seem so far away anymore does it?
I hated it really, it aches but it holds me.
I don't understand why she talks about that summer like she does.
Yes I was the look she wanted, but my teeth are gray and damaged.
"Remember those months when you didn't eat?"
Why does she say it like that?
Why does it matter so much to her?
Why does it bother me so much when she talks about it with a smile?
It feels like she misses it.
Something about issues like this, they are more than skin deep.
I will not pretend to be in love with my reflection but these issues are far more than what they may appear to be.

Nothing cuts like a mother
I sat in the back seat and jokingly asked my mother if I was a bratty child.
She lights up as if she has been waiting to tell me.
"We couldn't take you anywhere."
"And what do you mean by that?"
She told me about how difficult I was.
How my anxieties and panic were so hard for her.
She laughed about the time I cried in the store in the city.
"We were there for three hours."
She acted as if I didn't remember the fear and breathlessness caused by it.
I was struggling, but I guess it wasn't more than a hassle to her.
I was twelve.
How she saw the fear of a child and tells me the story at sixteen as if i were nothing but a burden, I don't know what to make of it but it does make sense.
Why do you never come to us?
Why don't you tell me anything?
Why do you never spend time with me?
I think that questions have answered themselves really.

A better understanding
I was left an empty vase for much of my life.
Maybe they would disagree but I was taught to view myself as a burden.
Used for sex before I knew the word rape, left unseen by those who were supposed to have eyes on me, told I was the crazy one, I was always the problem.
I still struggle with these perceptions but I now see them as the falsehoods they are.
Say whatever you feel, tell me about how difficult I am,
I have spent enough time as the scapegoat.to see myself as otherwise.
I will admit hearing this has all left me aching, but those wounds are scaring over.

I am no better
A man came into the library today, he was shaking and rambling, his eyes were red and he cried over words I didn't understand.
I sat at the front desk and listened to his story, until she told me to stop hearing him.
He left and these people I respected judged a man I have a lot in common with then they'd ever see.
I hide it better than he does but we've both brought backpacks to those bathrooms.
He caused a disruption but to see him be dehumanized aches because I am no different.
I know how to pretend, I know how to lie, of course they didn't know about my problem, I don't want them to, but it felt like they were insulting a part of myself I almost always keep hidden.

Masking
I often hear that I am the authentic type, I take it as a compliment of sincerity but not one of truth.
I do speak my mind but only when my voice won't shake. I do live honestly but only when the judgment wouldn't sting too much for me to handle. I don't play a part on a stage but I do everywhere else.
I am deeply envious of the free, because only in the raw self are we free.
I see these people talk about the importance of being who you are, but would they really accept me for what I am?
I haven't been able to, so why would they?
It's not a mask I put on in the morning, it's just the person I am when they are around.
I don't ponder what they expect, I simply am what they want me to be.

The beach
I remember the sense of overwhelm I felt.
I didn't know why I was crying, I rarely do, but I did.
The card tower stood high and soon I watched it fall over.
Of course I drank as I always do.
The relief I felt was indescribable.
I picked up the sands of my worries and watched as the ocean pulled them away and out of my hands.