At least I think you were real.

A few nights ago, I was left at the imaginary altar. My bedroom, the church filled with all of our imaginary family and friends joined together as imaginary guests. My imaginary groom long gone, bags packed as you ran out the door with only the excuse of 'this just isn't working out anymore,' to tide me over. My not-so-imaginary tears did nothing to make you stay. All that you left behind was me standing alone to explain to everyone just why you weren't going to make it to the imaginary wedding.

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These are Dirty Words

This will take me more than a while to write down only because it has to be done in between my waves of sadness. I don't know how valid my words can be if I spend the entire time trying to describe to you how revolting I find myself to be. ___________________________________________________ I was raped on November 1, 2014 at 3 o'clock in the morning. I have been told that I led him on. I have been told that I dressed too enticingly. I have been told that I was asking for it. I have been told that it's what I really wanted all along. Sometimes I believe none of these things are true. Sometimes I believe they're all true. But this event, life changing that it was, is not the focus of what I'm trying to say. It's all about the after. What happened to me after this. Who I became after this. I'm not even really sure, to be honest. It started with a lot of confusion. Genuine, crippling confusion. Like, in order to cope with day to day life my brain...

Eyeliner Sideburns

In another life, known as the age of 14, I had a big crush on a boy. Before I get started recalling any type of detail about the nature of our relationship - no relationship whatsoever, actually - I feel compelled to describe our differences in outward appearance. Jason, last name Whothehellknows, was a rather attractive specimen of boy. Tall, slender, rather nice hair, amazing glasses. He was probably the boy that got me started on my love of guys that wear glasses, actually. I liked them so much that I even renamed him. Pretty Glasses Boy he was dubbed, PGB for short and I was completely infatuate. So was the rest of the female student body, to be honest. He delivered letters and memos to other classrooms for the office and you could hear the murmur down the hall from the girls after he left a room. I, on the other hand, was on the other side of aesthetically pleasing. I was short, too skinny, and my hair was wrong. Come to think of it, when isn't my hair wrong? I digress. He...

There's a boy next to me and he never will be anything but a boy at the bar.

I see you. Over there in the nook to the left of the bar. The shadowy place that no one ever notices unless you’re looking for it. The place I always look because that’s where you always are. And I see you. And I see her. Climbing all over you like some sort of primate. Maybe it’s because you’re so tall. Maybe it’s because she’s the size of a pixie. Either way, I can’t take my eyes away. I feel no jealousy. All I feel is warm. Tequilla. Whisky. Vodka. My blood is a coctail and all I feel is warm and the urge to dance. So I do. I completely forget about you because my needs are more important than you are. And it feels so good. Hair flips. Hip sways. Two steps. It’s wonderful. But then a song I don’t know comes on. And I stop dancing. And I look over. And you’re watching me. How long had I been there? How long had you noticed I was there? “Let’s go get another drink,” my friend says. Followed by a walk to the bar. It’s crowded. I stand back. You make your move. “So where’s you...

I mean it from the bottom of my [HEART].

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