Stories and poems of survival- true badass Boss Bitches
Masked Without A Voice
Published: July 2018
The truth I hold, took years to unfold, locked up and never told.
Now I speak, for I am done being weak.
A story I will tell, awakening the pits of hell.
Pinned against the wall, being six a little small.
Tongue against my chest, you can imagine the rest.
Touching, feeling, my eyes rolling to the ceiling.
I push away, forced down, I am here to stay and pray.
Day and night, always full of fright kissing, sucking, nonstop fucking.
Crying, weeping, always happened when they're sleeping.
Was I that bad of a kid?
Why was I auctioned with this demon to bid?
Sold to the pervert in the chair, dragged off stage by the strings of my hair.
No one cares about you he said, cutting my wrist wishing I were dead.
He's right, you see, all these years no one gave a damn about me.
A puppet I am to him, dangling from limb to limb.
The years pass on by, I have no tears left to cry.
I escaped this hate, no more videos left to tape.
Visits became less and less, I'm starting to grow up a mess.
Drinking here, smoking there, my life is hard to share.
Making friends with the junkies, parading around town like diseased monkeys.
Every day that goes by, I feel ashamed and left to die.
I tried to share my story to those I trust, but all they wanted was my lust.
Met a boy, come to find out I was just his toy.
I wanted to help his soul, but instead I paid his toll.
Being punched in the face, always leaving with a trace.
Left in harm's way, wasted with no place to stay.
Wandering the streets, giving myself to men with sheets.
Crying while we fuck, gasping for air the more they struck.
I always gave myself for free, it was you who ashamed me.
No respect for myself, no metal to place on a shelf.
Falling down to dirt, clothes stained, blood stained skirt.
The cold making me shiver, drinking the flask and damaging my liver.
Why should I care about my life, here I go carving myself with a knife.
Blood dripping down my thigh, hatred fills me like a high.
All numb, can't feel a thing, the mourning doves ready to sing.
I am not dead, just hanging by a thread.
The ambulance speeding so fast, all I can see is a movie of my past.
All stitched up ready to go, put your cloths on you stupid hoe.
Here I go this life I lead to know, take a seat and watch the show.
Dancing for their eyes to see, please God set me free.
A man took me home that night, my eyes sparkled full of fright.
He was addicted to drugs, veins shot up, full of bugs.
Leaving me in the ghettos, dreaming I was frolicking in meadows.
Touched and abused I was, just so he could get a meth buzz.
Smoke filled air, the smell is hard to bear.
Watching him fly like a kite, he cheers me while I get fucked in the night.
His eyes so black, pinning me like a thumbtack.
The years passed on by, still living my past as a lie.
I did survive this life, I have now retired my knife.
Scars still there, people look at them and stare.
I am sad at times, past full of all these crimes.
Smiling to all, putting my hands out, breaking my fall.
I would like to share my voice, it's up to me to make that choice.
Toy Shed Nightmare
Published: February 2018
I still remember the dark dirty floor
of the toy shed in the backyard.
The pain as every piece of clothing I had on
was getting torn off in fast motions.
The hand covering my
mouth as I screamed for someone to help me.
The help never came.
As I screamed with the sweaty hand over my mouth
I thought that this was it,
I was going to die.
I was only six years old,
all my hopes and dreams were over,
The pain was something I'd never felt before,
it wasn't a cut nor a scrape.
This pain would never go away or heal.
Then as if time stood still
I lay there thinking what my parents would think
when I told them what had happened.
I tried so hard to get myself to safety,
but I was weak, every move I made
felt like the world was crashing down on me.
When really it was a fourteen year old boy crushing me
as he forced his way into my innocence.
Taking away every purity I had
and leaving me with pain and suffering.
At that moment I prayed that I would die.
For to live a life with this pain and wound that would never heal was
As I stopped screaming I thought I had died.
The pain was still there but I felt a light shine on me.
As I looked up I realized the torture was over, he had fled
the toy shed and went back into his house.
I lay there naked in my own blood trying to figure out why this all
happened, and why it had happened to me.
To this day there isn't a moment that goes by that I
don't think about that day in the toy shed.
The pain and suffering still lurks in my head as I dream at night.
It isn't forgotten and never will be,
for that is how I learn and grow.
Sharing and preventing is something I strive for.
No one should feel that way.
No one should cause that pain.
For that pain lasts a lifetime.