Escape

Thirteen. When I began my journey journey of self expression self exploration self determination The girls at school they liked to use these words these words we did not yet understand. Bitch. Whore. Skank. Slut. We thought we knew the meanings. We had no idea. These words flew like bullets through the tense middle school air. It became so thick us girls had trouble breathing. Almost like smoke it filled our lungs and fueled our tongues. We made sure every sentence every word every moment we spoke, was full of venom. Venom to make girls cry to make them see to make them fear us. I cried. All night, every night. Wondering when it would stop. Desperately I tried to form a bond with anyone. A friendship to be proud of. No venom, no smoke, just kind words to lift you up. To make you see the beauty of every day instead of pushing you into the dark. These friends I found, they called me a whore. I kissed one boy. One time. They didn't know what the word really meant. Or else they wouldn't have used it. Right? Pen to paper, ink on page. Slowly my words came out. Dark things about girls who make every day not worth living. About family who doesn't see. About friends who are anything but. Poems with beautiful words expressing dark times. It was my escape. I write anything I want nobody there to judge. Nobody could laugh or tell me to get help. Paper only listens. Only records thoughts, memories, ideas. Trapped in a world I didn't understand, I found my calling in the art of pen. Poetry saved my life. That is why I write.