Christianity, Chronic illness, poetry

I’m Just Fine (My First Rap)

People ask me “Why you don’t talk” all the time.

Well here’s your damn answer,

My body’s decaying, it’s breaking.

But no one gives two craps unless it’s cancer.

All I do stare up at ceilings

Trying to ignore the fact that my skin keeps peeling. Off

Damn Doctors, they insult me 

It’s all in my brain, they say.

Thanks Doc,

Slam the car door, mom asks those three words,

“How are you?”

My mouth is under padlock.

She just wants to hear that 

I’m still as strong not easy to knock.

Even if every words a lie.


I’m, just, fine.

I’ll be okay, I’m living a normal life.

It’s sad from time to time, but God is kind.

Don’t you worry about me, I’ll bloom on time,

I may have thorns in my sides, but I was made just right.

I have my eyes on the prize, it will just take some patience and Christ.

I’m, just, fine.


There’s not light, I look at the time. I have a realization,

The medication can’t stop the PTSD or depression, my silence is a confession, open your eyes and make a correction on how you see me before I make a stupid decision that will make you learn your lesson. 

See me. I’m weaker than you think, don’t blink, you might miss it. Terrified of the what if’s the worlds darkest screw it’s.

You tell me I can’t live this way, I’m lazy and I never move from where I lay. 

No really? you think I wanted this? What about all the things I miss? Really?

This is my body, not me. If pain wasn’t in the damn way I would runaway, stand in line just because this mother could, I would dance all night pretending this white girl was from the hood. Only if I could. 

You ask me with that fake voice, “Girl, How are you!?” 

And so the conversation goes…


I’m, just, fine.

I’ll be okay, I’m living a normal life.
It’s sad from time to time, but God is kind.
Don’t you worry about me, I’ll bloom on time,
I may have thorns in my sides, but I was made just right.
I have my eyes on the prize, it will just take some patience and Christ.
I’m, just, fine.
What should I say? You all ready know that the pain is chronic, that I have PTSD and I can’t love myself, that I dig so far into my body that bleed, it’s ironic.

Can’t be my own lover so I make myself uglier.

You know that. But say it out loud, you run faster then a freaking street rat. 

So I’m fine. Cuz it’s crime to check box other.

Mother always says to treat others how you want to be treated so I show compassion.

Even after you ask me that question in poor fashion. Because no should be alone.

Even if love was never shown. In the first place.

So I get another text, the same stupid question.

As if I could describe with the words in my possession. So I hold up a mirror and have them ask themselves. Thats all people have wanted since I was twelve.



I’m, just, fine.

I’ll be okay, I’m living a normal life.
It’s sad from time to time, but God is kind.
Don’t you worry about me, I’ll bloom on time,
I may have thorns in my sides, but I was made just right.
I have my eyes on the prize, it will just take some patience and Christ.
I’m, just, fine.
If the pain would go, my heart could show, and all this loneliness would be just a memory. But just because that’s what it should be doesn’t mean it could be.

Chronic illness

Terrified and Silent 

Have you ever been terrified of something or someone that wasn’t actually there? Have you ever been in a scary situation that was actually harmless but you created it in your head? I have been terrified of fellow classmates inside elevators. I have locked myself inside of my bathroom until my mom came home because I thought someone was in the house. I have woken up from panic because I thought I could sense someone was about to rape me. PTSD they labeled me. Prescribed medication to help me sleep. You see by the time stamp on this post that the meds are working well. 

Have you ever smelt alcohol on someone’s breath and you travel through time to when you were abused? Reliving it from beginning to end without any way of stopping it. Has anyone ever accidentally touched you in some way that makes you have a panic attack? I always found it interesting that when it happened I couldn’t scream and I could barely talk. But when I’m in a flash back my voice is fine. I find it interesting that even when I wake up at night, I never scream but I know I am in panic. Even now I am obedient,”Shh, go back to bed.” With one whisper replaying in my mind, I still don’t fight. 

I don’t need to fight anymore. I need to live.


Let Him Go, Love God

tumblr_nvg0okceop1un115xo1_500Since I had the ability to remember, I knew I wanted a boyfriend. I knew that I wanted to do life with someone that I was in love with, and someone that was in love with me. As I grew up, it became an obsession. I could blame it on my Dad for not being a great dad and I could blame it on my sexual assault, but those things just made the problem worse.

Once I hit puberty, my search for love and affection went into overdrive. It constantly caused me to be depressed. I would search for something instant, knowing that it wouldn’t work, then I would be rejected. I didn’t handle the rejection well. I would go down this spiral of despair and tell myself that I wasn’t worth loving. Then my first long term boyfriend came along. It was thrilling but shortly after I knew that we were using each other for validation. To prove to ourselves that we could be loved and that we could love someone else. We used each other to feel better about ourselves because our lives sucked. You can imagine how that relationship unfolded.


For me, It was him.

You don’t actually have to imagine because I’m going to tell you. He was never good enough and there was always some standard that I wanted him to live up to. Most of the standards were reasonable, for an adult male that was mature. He was younger then me and I was expecting him to be the man that he was still learning how to be. Once sex was introduced, we were doomed to fail. We never had sex but we did other sexual things to each other. We wanted to make each other happy because we knew deep down that that was the only way we could keep each other happy. Once you get a taste of something, you want more of it and then you have to go further. For two teenagers wildly enduring hormones, it was hard for us to stop. I remember one time when he went too far and I told him to stop twice. Since I had PTSD from my molestation, I had a panic attack when he wouldn’t get off of me and screamed. He jumped off of me and he was terrified. I didn’t know what to say. I also remember the day my mom walked in on us. We both agreed that we would stop fooling around. That lasted maybe a month, then I started it back up again. I had shame and guilt even before we were caught. I started it back up because I was afraid of loosing him.


We looked great on the outside. Everyone thought that we were cute, some tried to break us up. On the inside, however; our relationship was us hurting each other, saying sorry, and then doing something else that hurt the other person. I have abused him, he has abused me. Emotionally, Physically. I have slapped him and he has forced himself on top of me. We were good at faking our communication. He was great at not paying for anything, and I was great at nagging. We should have never been together but at the same time if I never dated him, I wouldn’t know what not to do now. I’m not saying that we didn’t have our good times but they are hard to remember over the explosion of a break up that we had.


Nearing the start of my senior year, I started truly having faith in God. As that started happening, I was also starting to feel convicted of the choices I made and the relationship I chose to be in. I knew that I needed to break things off with him but I felt like I needed him. I was terrified of being alone and after all he was my best friend. So I waited to see if he would find God with me, and he didn’t. I was being pulled in by desire and lust. I needed to break up with him and I knew that if I did it in person, he would have changed my mind. So I called him, I told him that I couldn’t do this anymore. That the relationship wasn’t good for either of us. That God wanted me to move on and heal things that were there even before he came along. I couldn’t rely on him to make me feel whole anymore. He cried, I cried. We parted ways. Then I started freaking out at the realization that I had no one. So I text him and ask him to take me back. Not because I loved him, because I need him as my crutch. He then begins to tell me that I was a horrible girlfriend. He continued to tell me nasty things that he thought and his friends thought about me. I hear that, given the opportunity, he will tell others about how terrible I am and also about the things that we had done sexually together. Sometimes exaggerated.


I have grown to ignore what others tell me about what he says. I know I am not whatever person I was in 2014. I will continue to grow and look to my future. I now can be alone with out the despair and the thirst that comes with single life. I don’t have to date the first, second, or third person who asks me out. I am sustained in my faith of the Lord instead of failing to fill myself with the love of a man. There is nothing that he or anyone else can do to change that. I am proud that I am being prepared for my next relationship. Even if my ex keeps intruding into my families life and my life, I know that I don’t have to let that destroy me. My past doesn’t have a hold on me anymore. I have a long journey ahead but I have a choice whether or not I will let my past will effect it or not.

This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!

~2 Corinthians 5:17~

P.S.~ I want to thank my ex, if he is reading this, for helping one of my relatives move. We aren’t talking for a reason and you still helped out my family. Thank you for stepping up like that and putting whatever feelings you have for me aside to help out. I was not able to help due to my many illnesses, so thank you.



Be Naked

1509Let me be naked.

Refusing the familiar.

Allow me to feel my own skin.

Dry, soft, or bleeding,

let me appear as I am.

Guilt in my bare hips and

lust with each movement of my

breath and breasts.

Why deny it?

Thrust on me with tongue,

what was craving in him,

quenched by my lack of consent.

Now I am just sex?

So let me show my spine.

See a reflection and greet what’s there.

No personality in objects

to hide my body of shame and dirty talk.




I will not let foreign saliva and

other forced hands

suffocate me, dress me.

Let me be naked.


Chronic illness


I am reliant. I depend on others, objects, ideas. All of these things intertwine and make up a net that catches comfort and control, continuously feeding my habits. I  get a shaking feeling in my diaphragm and my ribs. Every time life gives the chance for a new love, a new chance. There is no control in love and it terrifies me. New beginnings though, I crave a new start. Change is not my enemy, betrayal is, lies are, the parts of life that are unknown are. I rely on truth, at least what I believe to be true. I rely on my family, blood or not. I do this by choice, or was raised to do so. Which ever sociology or psychology decides to be true. What I do know about psychology is that I can rely on things that no one would ever ask for. Depression, anxiety, PTSD. The internet jokes on how crippling the all are. Can the truth be funny? Or do they confide in humor like I do with film and fiction. It’s that or sink into my brain, all it does is think and spiral. I can always rely on my emotions to cripple me. But I can entrust my bed to keep me. In those times, I pray to God. I ask for the mind to understand what I need to so that I can have faith. I struggle with faith, not with faith in knowing that He is real but faith in knowing that he is there for me. I rely and idolize the secular beauty of speech. Music, poetry, deep conversation. I rely on it temporary emptiness instead of waiting for the rich things God says he provides. I depend on what is immediate and short tempered. All because I can’t afford to break. I’m terrible at puzzles. If I break I’ll have nothing to fall back on. And I’m terrified that I’ll end my life or spend the rest of my life in pieces. I don’t know which one is worse. So I stay where I’m comfortable not where I could thrive because I am porcelain. My reliance will shatter me, and when it does I then will rely on the right things.

Chronic illness

A Letter of Forgiveness 

It has been some time now. 7 years to be exact. 7 years and I still cannot forget what happened that night. But some how I can’t remember what you looked like. It’s probably so different now. I wonder if I saw you in a crowd that I would recognize you. The man that took my innocence, the man who molested me. In my heart I know it’s time to move forward. But I don’t want anyone to forget what a horrible thing you did to me. I can’t find a medium. I don’t want what you did to me to dictate my life decisions. You made me feel such fear. And part of me wants you to pay. But the other part hopes that you find God and never hurt anyone else. That you would be healed by Him like I hope to be. In Gods eyes we are all equal in sin. And I know I am no better than you. I pray that you have learned from what you have done to me and haven’t hurt anyone else. I also pray that you find peace and love through God like I have. I find myself still working through the anger I have. But I hate the sin and have come to show love to the sinner. Mel, I forgive you. And I hope you can forgive me for having such hatred towards you for so long.

Psalms 65:3