Welcome to Ghost Town Read online

  it was the perfect fit.

  you screamed that

  i should get over it.

  get over the trauma

  that has changed the

  way i live my life.

  tell me how. tell me how

  to get over it all. tell me

  again why i shouldn’t

  write about all this pain.

  teach me the lessons

  when empathy does

  not live inside of you.

  bittersweet friend,

  you say to me that

  although we don’t

  talk anymore, you’re

  there for me.

  a friendship goes both ways,

  and it seems that you’ve

  forgotten about the times

  you tried to erase my pain.

  my darling friend,

  must i remind you about

  all the times you projected

  yourself onto me. you wore

  the mask to hide your own

  disasters and failures.

  you hid it all behind such beauty.

  t.w. : bullying

  bully.

  bully

  bully

  bully

  when all you think is about yourself

  not caring who you hurt

  all for your gain

  twisting bodies

  hurting hearts

  mending minds

  bully.

  when depression isn’t a thing to you.

  it’s stupid, according to you.

  god heals, according to you.

  when you say how pretty an idea is

  and laugh behind their back.

  the idea is childish, according to you.

  mother.

  fucking.

  bully.

  i once had a friend who was in love with a

  guy and the beast made sure to rip them

  apart. the guy believed all the beast's lies.

  and on her very special day he tore up

  her heart, into tiny shreds, her heart

  made into confetti.

  all

  because

  of

  the

  bully.

  it’s been more than ten years

  and the girl is still broken.

  it’s been more than twenty years

  and the beast is still a bully.

  the congregation screams

  holy to your voice, not

  to your anointing.

  - here lies your pride

  brothers and sisters in christ, your

  lord savior, you say. and here laid

  up on this altar are all the fallen

  girls, sisters, who have followed

  your footsteps. here laid up on

  this altar are all the rebels that

  you call heathen. here laid up on

  this altar are the beasts who

  grew up to be like you.

  - a curse without lineage

  and the not-turned charming

  beast took their words like

  daggers to my soul, leaving

  wounds fleshed open for

  everyone to take advantage of.

  this time though, i stitched myself

  up, walked away, and never came

  back. i refused to be the next victim

  that laid at their altar to sacrifice.

  t.w. : physical abuse

  are you a firefighter now?

  do you still ease the fires you

  create between a woman’s legs?

  you have such fiery intent.

  remember when two different people

  on two different days came up to me,

  and told me they saw you with other girls?

  mr. motel hotel 2.0 with she, and them,

  and me, and her, and me, and she

  and i was full of fucking rage.

  not

  this

  shit

  again

  found out that what you really wanted was a baby

  and you fueled with fire since i didn’t want any.

  remember when you pushed me and grabbed me,

  choked me against the gate?

  then

  on

  my

  birthday

  you

  said

  you loved me

  and you gave me roses.

  the red ones.

  if you paid attention,

  then you would’ve realized

  i

  fucking

  hate

  roses

  just like i hated you and everything

  you tried to put me through.

  did your dream come true? are you a firefighter now?

  or do you still cause the fire and try to burn every

  woman down?

  you tried

  b u r n i n g

  me down

  not knowing

  you were

  fucking with a

  g o d d e s s

  you used words like

  “make love” and “forever.”

  yet, we both knew

  you never loved us

  and this fire was

  leading to an explosion.

  in choking me, the bursting

  of your fire turned into words

  into hate into bitterness into

  the fury i will never ever forget.

  i still remember the exact

  gate you choked me into under

  the queensboro bridge.

  - still seeing smoke of the once burned bridge

  i screamed fire fire

  feeling heat radiate

  through all my skin

  years later when you

  went looking for me

  and all you found

  was a woman who

  overtook her power

  and extinguishes

  anyone who tries to

  burn her alive

  t.w. : gun violence, drug abuse, and homophobia

  i had promised my mother and myself that i wasn’t

  going to talk about that place or the monster.

  but if i don’t,

  then

  i’m

  not

  healing

  and my writing?

  my writing is the healing i need.

  the monster is dead.

  quite l i t e r a l l y .

  i’m not scared of the monster anymore.

  the monster cannot come out

  of his grave to try and shoot me.

  a g a i n

  you see..

  the monster isn’t about some asshole that i dated.

  no the monster was supposed to be a father figure.

  the monster considered everyone his sons and daughters.

  but when did fathers talk bad about their daughters?

  when did fathers tell people their daughters secrets?

  when i told him in a state of vulnerability.

  looking for love and peace and freedom from my own

  demons

  that

  haunt

  me

  every

  single

  day

  when did fathers try to kill their daughters?

  over

  an

  opinion

  the monster dressed in priest clothing.

  the monster who spoke bad about everyone.

  the controlling monster.

  the vicious monster.

  the fuckedupdontknowhowtobeafather monster.

  the self-righteous monster.

  a week before i heard news about the monster,

  i was soaking in my agony

  and in my mind i asked for justice.

  justice for the pain the monster inflicted

  on me,

  on my friend,

  on my family.

  i wonder who heard my cry for justice.

 
because the monster died

  from a heart attack.

  for when he looked for me to gun me down,

  i felt my heart ready to explode.

  fathers

  shouldn’t

  kill

  their

  daughters

  aren’t fathers supposed to be loving and protecting?

  and yet a monster is still a monster.

  karma has a way of working

  and doing it’s due diligence.

  for every time that you

  prophesied someone

  would die, life took away

  a year from you quickly

  at a time.

  you said that for every

  finger pointed, four

  fingers pointed back.

  you didn’t pull the trigger but

  a piece of me died that day.

  these are your sermon’s themes with no biblical meanings attached to them:

  me being a lesbian and having tattoos that would spill ink into my ribs.

  her little white lines and the abuse from her father.

  stripping away the gayness out of a young man.

  with all of this and more, would

  god rejoice in all the spiritual

  deaths you held in your hands?

  where is his love? for i cannot

  find it sitting here in the church

  pew on this lovely sunday afternoon.

  with your death, i found

  my peace. for i know that

  families will not be

  destroyed nor prosecuted

  by your double-edged words.

  - the day i took my first breath

  your holy ground

  burns my feet

  and i’m still walking

  through the fire

  - survivor

  her name is chaos.

  because

  she

  fucked

  up

  so

  many

  lives

  she was catastrophic with her lies.

  dangerous with her eyes.

  disgusting with her mouth.

  selfish in her darkened soul.

  chaos had her own agenda.

  sometimes i wonder if she wanted

  to inflict pain on others because of

  the pain others inflicted on her.

  i also wonder if i was supposed to feel bad

  since

  she

  went

  to

  a

  mental

  institution

  one day it all clicked.

  the correlation between her lies and her mind.

  her chaotic actions and ill logic.

  the thin line between her rage and insanity.

  she’s chaos.

  and

  she

  wanted

  everyone

  to

  pay

  for

  her

  pain

  s y m p a t h y ;

  a

  lack

  thereof.

  absent.

  somehow it doesn’t run

  through my veins to better

  understand your actions.

  i fought and tried.

  in the end game, you’re the

  manipulative mastermind

  behind the breakage of

  anyone who came in contact

  with you.

  i

  guess i had

  too much

  hope

  for a friendship.

  i

  thought that

  you would

  never

  lie the way you did.

  but you made me

  see

  that people aren’t

  forgiving and so

  you

  tried killing me. not

  knowing i’d miss

  death’s visitation

  again.

  it’s hard for me to believe when you

  say you didn’t know what you were

  doing. as if, you didn’t sit in homes

  and make people fall in love with

  your poisoned tongue. and once they

  ate forbidden fruit, you left a

  tornado in your wake.

  you chose to tell me everything

  first. you could’ve picked anyone

  yet you decided it was my turn

  to be ruined by everyone.

  it didn’t take long for me

  to figure out that i was an

  easy target, for he was

  preaching about me on

  his holy untouched altar.

  let’s both act like you

  didn’t play a part

  in my killing.

  - oh chaos, you have sinned

  t.w. : suicide and self-harm

  chaos has a sister named suicide.

  the innocent one of the family.

  the family member who made you ask

  how

  are

  you

  two

  related?

  suicide never hurt anyone, but herself.

  she wasn’t only filled with teenage rebellion,

  she was filled with the fuckups of her family.

  i

  think

  it

  drove

  her

  to

  the

  brink

  darkness filled her soul.

  cuts filled her body.

  pills filled her stomach.

  sometimes you try to mend wounds

  that don’t correspond to you.

  like i once did with suicide.

  sometimes people just need themselves

  before they need anyone else.

  and sometimes people like suicide

  need to move far away from their

  own m a d n e s s .

  she’s still alive,

  in case you’re wondering.

  you

  look

  so

  much

  like

  her

  and

  yet

  the

  bloodline

  runs

  so

  thin

  - opposites of the universe

  one day you contacted

  me and we spoke for

  a little while before i

  walked away.

  your happiness radiates

  through your new life.

  you soak up the sun

  now and you glow

  like the beauty

  you’ve always been.

  there sitting in silence

  while you were on the

  verge of dying, he told

  everyone your secrets.

  he had no right to ever

  tell anyone what you

  were going through.

  - suicide is not a mockery

  the witch’s name is jezebel.

  she placed a spell on people

  and made them believe

  she was a saint,

  she smiled

  and laughed

  and faked it all.

  jezebel:

  cruel.

  malicious.

  a

  ruthless

  bitch.

  this witch doesn’t compare to

  the ones i’ve read in books.

  what she didn’t know was that

  she

  was

  her

  own

  curse

  every house she entered

  was every house that was burned.

  and every life she entered

  was every soul she controlled.

  till she met us.

  it was like throwing the

  wrong potion in her cauldron.

  she screamed and hollered,

  cursing me to the ground.

  i looked th
rough her spellbook and

  saw a bookmark on her next spell.

  my mother, the lioness,

  took jezebel’s spellbook

  and threw it in the fire

  with jezebel in it.

  we burned her at the stake.

  we burned the witch, destroyer

  of marriages and well-kept

  homes. the lioness made

  sure our home wasn’t next.

  loved me like a mother

  cursed me like a daughter

  took me for a fool

  and the only person

  who got played

  in this part

  was you

  you’re not the type of witch who

  does good magic. you’re the witch

  that talks with demons and gives

  poisoned apples for the girls to bite.

  you’re the witch who causes divorce

  and takes men to your bed while

  wives cry in their sleep. they made

  friends out of you meanwhile you

  were making your bed. but now you

  lay in your loneliness. you met a lioness

  and she keeps this household whole.

  oh father, you have once again

  sinned. you let the witch come

  in and like black magic, it ran

  through souls. the demons have

  found homes to rest. how will the

  souls ever see the gates of heaven?

  - jezebel the taker

  you danced around

  my mother,

  chanting to her ear

  run her out this house if she does not serve god.

  kick her out if she no longer steps foot inside the lord’s house.

  a church doesn’t make a

  relationship with god.

  a church doesn’t open

  the flood gates.

  a church is not a god

  in which i bend my

  knees to pray in hopes

  of healing and instead

  i come out with bleeding

  scraped knees yelling

  for someone to save me.

  and somehow it’s not god

  who comes to my rescue.