Wednesday, February 29, 2012
The day the sky fell
They told me I only had 150 words to tell my story So here I go I am the girl with big eyes and small hands and too many words and not enough breath that walks in broken heels and dyes her hair black to match the nails on the chalk board that scream over her screams I am the girl who doesn't have time to punctuate because she was only given 150 fucking words I am the girl with one broken string on her harp with one fan listening to her sad story of how she had nothing and still lost it all, and I am the girl given 150 words to talk about the day the sky fell and not even chicken little believed me But not even 1000 words can say how much rape will affect a girl But I guess 150 will just have to do.
Monday, February 20, 2012
I SAID NO
IMAGE: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=scary rape&order=9&offset=48#/d24xzc0
I've seen darkness before my own mortal eyes,
and looked past the piont of no return and glanced further,
and casted my eyes upon the fool's gold waiting at the end of the rainbow,
but then I was blinded.
And I heard the screams of the innocent,
and the cries of the convicted,
and listened further for the sweet sidistic melody of happiness and pain,
Before I became death.
And I sang sorrow,
and talked wisdom,
and laughed daisies,
and screamed out in dainty anger,
But then i became mute by your hands.
And even though i am deaf, blind and mute...
I still hear you.
I still see you.
And i can never erase you from me.
"Water will wash away everything if you let it" they say.
But i've scrubbed until I bleed,
and then I scrub more.
And maybe, I'll just scrub to the bone and be...born-again,
With that fucking memory of you BURNED into my scapel,
and the sheets will be my noose.
You could have at least left me some feeling....couldn't you?
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Black Mascara and a Bunch of Lies
All that was left,
was the black mascara,
smudge out on a tissue saying
"It's not blood it's just lipstick".
Cigrette-Butts and a car ride home
I can't quite remember how it happened,
But i know that it did.
And even though I can't remember it,
I can never forget it.
Burned into the back of my mind Like a cigrette-butt
smashed against the car side,
driving over the speed limit
to lie down to a man who's face is blurry and you just met.
I can't tell you the details,
except the fact that there are details to the tale.
A small innocent girl,
dragged out to a club with her friends.
Fake ID's,
Fake eyelashes.
Fake...everything.
And then a drink,
a dance,
and a car ride home
driving over the speed limit
to lie down to a man who's face is blurry and you just met.
And yes, I cannot tell you that I might remember some of it,
But I remeber that his translation of my "No" was a big fat yes.
You cant undo the past,
Not with all the time machines,
and worm wholes,
you try to open.
You can't erase or take back...or get back,
what was taken.
Because once it is ripped from you by an inch of your dignity,
It explodes in the sun and turns into body glitter and ciggrette-butts,
and a car ride home,
and a police report,
and a foggy vision of things that happened that you canot rember and can't forget.
But i know that it did.
And even though I can't remember it,
I can never forget it.
Burned into the back of my mind Like a cigrette-butt
smashed against the car side,
driving over the speed limit
to lie down to a man who's face is blurry and you just met.
I can't tell you the details,
except the fact that there are details to the tale.
A small innocent girl,
dragged out to a club with her friends.
Fake ID's,
Fake eyelashes.
Fake...everything.
And then a drink,
a dance,
and a car ride home
driving over the speed limit
to lie down to a man who's face is blurry and you just met.
And yes, I cannot tell you that I might remember some of it,
But I remeber that his translation of my "No" was a big fat yes.
You cant undo the past,
Not with all the time machines,
and worm wholes,
you try to open.
You can't erase or take back...or get back,
what was taken.
Because once it is ripped from you by an inch of your dignity,
It explodes in the sun and turns into body glitter and ciggrette-butts,
and a car ride home,
and a police report,
and a foggy vision of things that happened that you canot rember and can't forget.
Monday, February 13, 2012
And her name was snow
She was only for years old,
when she became the show,
a specticle,
a whimsicle,
a lie down and blow.
She was only six years old,
when the pain began to go,
but the motions they had slowed,
as she smiled and let go.
Her hair as black as crow,
and her skin a radient glow,
but her hands strong to hold,
and her story never told.
And flat on her back she goes,
resting on her plateau,
of silence made of gold.
Her name was Snow.
Make her feel Human Again
The advertiser Dar Al Amal has recently come up with a social advertising print campaign about the women anti-abuse crusade, executed by Memac Ogilvy & Mather Dubai, UAE. The public awareness campaign is for the brand name Counseling Services for Abused Women. The advertiser shows exactly its full understanding of the plight of abused women all over the world. The campaign’s copy of “Help Her Feel Human Again” is the truest description of what happens to women under abuse: the demise of their mental, psychological, and emotional health. They die before their time, if the abuse, indeed, even stops. For some, abuse has literally killed them.
Abuse is a universal phenomenon. It cuts across all economic levels, cultures, and geographies. It can occur in a tribal society, as well as in a metropolitan setting. Both rich and poor women fall into this predicament. Abuse knows no religion, although some abusive practices that are borne of religious belief may not be construed by the female victims of abuse as such. This is, perhaps, the highest form of abuse next to being killed. Some victims do not even know that they are victims.
One out of three women in the world is a victim of abuse. Abuse is a top killer of women. It can come in various forms, aside from physical death, such as domestic violence or physical battery and sexual abuse such as rape. Abuse is, ultimately, not about abuse. It is about power. Abuse is what happens when gender that has been dictated by the norms of society, rears its ugly head. Abuse is a byproduct when the female sector of society is value-judged by the laws of gender, as perpetrated by the male sector of society that basks in the glory of a patriarchal mindset.
http://trendsupdates.com/the-unfeeling-and-lifeless-doll-women-anti-abuse-ad/
Invisible White-Out
you sit at the bottom of the stairs and think, "well then"
victimizing yourself yet again
pick up a pen and
write away your tears because
bobby's not coming back this time
and daddy's gonna hit you again
and momma's got a drinking habit
and sister's got your favorite dress.
And you sit at the bottom of momma's bottle,
and you cry onto daddy's fists,
and you wipe your tears on the dress,
that you looked so pretty on your first date with Bobby.
Sitting on the bottom stoop,
with your tounge hung up by a noose,
and your words chocking on the ink,
as you jot them all down.
Jotting them down so you don't have them
piled up mile high in your cranium,
And they flow out of your ears,
listening to your tears,
and fall onto the paper,
and wash away the invisible white-out
of words you want to say,
but don't say,
and never will say,
because you can't say,
what you need to say.
All you say is "Sorry".
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Sunshine's Story
This is not a story about Sunshine or Daisies.
This is not a story about happiness.
And giddiness.
This is not a story about anything important.
This is a story about me.
This is a story about how I lost me.
My name is Sunshine I. Thermont.
I was 16 last year.
I will never be 16 again.
My younger-sister just turned 16. She has my eyes...
And it's kind of hard for me to look at her, because I look at her and I see my eyes. And I stare into my own eyes... and it hurts in a pleasant way. And I can't put my finger on it, but when I look into my own eyes I can't see my reflection, and I don't know why.
She was really smart...is really smart.
But she doesn't apply herself like she used to.
I guess it was really all my fault.
I carry her burden...and mom's...and dad's...and
His.
And his burden is MY burden.
And my burden is breaking my back vertebrae by vertebrae.
And twisting me over bone by bone.
I walk around with these burdens on my shoulders, etching down to my feet and dragging down on them like billiard balls. And I walk, and I hear the sound of cellophane footsteps and they go
"echo..step...echo step..cry. step. echo step."
But carrying these burdens was my choice.
I can't throw them into the ocean...or burry them in my back yard.
I can't hand them over to my therapist or even talk about it with my friends.
You know when something feels like it was just yesterday even though it was a really long time ago somewhere in the distant past? I feel my burdens every day.
His burden every day.
Like it was just yesterday... like it was just an hour ago..
Like everything just happened.
Sometimes I wake up screaming.
Most times I don't know what I'm saying, but I just scream.
And my mom has to come hold me down and scream back at me to make me stop....
But the scariest part of it all is that I see my little sister, peaking in through the door.
She's just starring like I was some animal in the zoo gone mad.
Like it was a show to her.
She didn't look happy, or please...or scared...she didn't look like anything but a stone wall.
But her eyes..sorry, My eyes...
They couldn't look away.
My little sister is addicted to meth.
I...I tried to help her, but I couldn't.
And I know she became a meth addict because of me and my decisions...
My burdens.
And I know mom smokes because of me, and dad drinks...
But It hurts to know that next to my bedroom my sister is flying high like a kite and when she comes through she'll crash and burn.
And its because of me.
You know I followed her once...to where she bought her addiction.
And every face on that ally side-walk look like
Him.
Everywhere I go, every face looks like him.
And I look into the mirror and sometimes his face is in place of mine.
And his hands are in place of mine,
And those hands are all over and smothering me.
And smothering me in places deeper then the pool I used to swim in at the YMCA,
and Places deeper than the lake I used to swim in when i was young.
I try to wash my burden off in the water.
scrub
scrub
scrub
But it won't come off.
It's like a tattoo.
My sister's burden.
My mother's burden.
My father's burden.
His burden.
This isn't the story about Sunshine and daisies.
This is about the suicide of innocence.
My name is Sunshine Innocent Thermont.
And I was 16 last year.
I will never be 16 again.
And I will never reach 17.
Written by: Hayley Michelle Age 15, February 9, 2012.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The perks of Being a Wallflower- By Stpehan Chbosky
"once on a yellow piece of paper,
she wrote a poem
and she called it "chops"
because that was the name of her dog.
and that's what it was about
and her teacher gave her an A
and a gold star
and her mother hung it on the door
and read it to her aunts
that was the year father tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and let them sing on the bus
that was the year her little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
and her mother and father kissed a lot
" and the boy around the corner sent her a
valentine signed with a row of x's
and she had to ask her mother what the x's meant
and her father always tucked her in at night
and was always there to do it
once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
she wrote a poem called "autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about
and her teacher gave her an A
and asked her to write more clearly
and her mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
and the kids told her
that father tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometimes they would burn holes
that was the year her sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the boy around the corner laughed
when she asked him to go see santa claus
and the kids told her why
her mother and father kissed a lot
and her father never tucked her in at night
and got mad
when she cried for him to do it
once on a piece of paper torn from her notebook
she wrote a poem
called "innocence; a question"
because that was the question about her boy
and that's what is was all about
and her professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and her mother never hung it on the kitchen door
becaue she never showed her
that was the year that father tracy died
and she forgot how the end
of apostle's creed went
and she caught her sister
making out on the back porch
and her mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the guy around the corner
put on too much Ax
that made her cough when she kissed him
but she kissed him anyway
because that was the thing to do
and at three A.M. she tucked herself into bed
her father snoring soundly
that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
she tried another poem
and she called it "absolutely nothing"
becaue that's what it was really about
and she gave herself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
and she hung it on that bathroom door
because she didn't think
she could reach the kitchen
she wrote a poem
and she called it "chops"
because that was the name of her dog.
and that's what it was about
and her teacher gave her an A
and a gold star
and her mother hung it on the door
and read it to her aunts
that was the year father tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and let them sing on the bus
that was the year her little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
and her mother and father kissed a lot
" and the boy around the corner sent her a
valentine signed with a row of x's
and she had to ask her mother what the x's meant
and her father always tucked her in at night
and was always there to do it
once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
she wrote a poem called "autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about
and her teacher gave her an A
and asked her to write more clearly
and her mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
and the kids told her
that father tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometimes they would burn holes
that was the year her sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the boy around the corner laughed
when she asked him to go see santa claus
and the kids told her why
her mother and father kissed a lot
and her father never tucked her in at night
and got mad
when she cried for him to do it
once on a piece of paper torn from her notebook
she wrote a poem
called "innocence; a question"
because that was the question about her boy
and that's what is was all about
and her professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and her mother never hung it on the kitchen door
becaue she never showed her
that was the year that father tracy died
and she forgot how the end
of apostle's creed went
and she caught her sister
making out on the back porch
and her mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the guy around the corner
put on too much Ax
that made her cough when she kissed him
but she kissed him anyway
because that was the thing to do
and at three A.M. she tucked herself into bed
her father snoring soundly
that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
she tried another poem
and she called it "absolutely nothing"
becaue that's what it was really about
and she gave herself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
and she hung it on that bathroom door
because she didn't think
she could reach the kitchen
Friday, February 3, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
STOP THE ABUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hello Pretty People.
I'm so sorry for not posting as average as I usually do. However, I will start up again!
I have recently been fixated on the in-moral abuse, rape and disrespect of women in third world countries.
So i have decided that this month, February, will be dedicated to STOP THE ABUSE!
I have a voice, and I plan on using it!
I plan to speak out against violence, and abuse and other things that need to be stopped immediately!
If you find articles about rape, abuse and or murders/suicides of women who have been subjected to this evil, please link me to them.
To write, you must educate yourself on the subject at hand.
SHARE POSTS WITH YOUR FRIENDS! Tell people about this!
IF YOU HAVE A VOICE SPEAK UP!
Thank you for your support and understanding,
STOP THE ABUSE
Hayley Michelle
Title of Article: Afghan Kin Are Accused of Killing Woman for Not Bearing a Son
Author: Graham Bowley
Publication: New York Times
Date Published: January 30, 1212
Article Type: Expository
Summary:
A young Afghanistan woman was strangled to death by her husband and his mother for being incapable of bearing a son. She had already given him two daughters and had just birthed another daughter. The mother was arrested, however the husband cannot be found. He is mostly likely under the protection of arabakia. (A gang in Afghanistan). This is not-“unusual” in Afghanistan, who has been fighting the treatment and disrespect of women in the country. Also in the article they talked about a clinic set up specifically to treat the abused women in Afghanistan and other 3rd world countries. It has been inferred that the husband was also involved in another case of disrespecting of women in Afghanistan about the throwing of acid in three teenage girls’ faces all due to one of the girl’s father refusing an arranged marriage.
Evaluate:
Reading article’s like this make me sick to my stomach. It astonishes me how many articles there are about spousal abuse, women abuse, and 3rd world rape cases. However, I am constantly attracted to them to expand my knowledge on these incidents. You have to be up to date in the situation if you’re trying to fix it. I am a feminist writer: I write about women, for women. Rape, abuse, murder and suicide…all things that women are subjected to are morally wrong! I find articles like this to inspire me to write about stopping it.
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