This Writers Curse,
Is as heavy as Hearse.
This writers shit is always on a quick shift,
It’s so god damn dangerous,
It lead me to be completely outrageous,
Raging all the memories that I was caging in hope that it would change me.
A writer can erase their mind from all
The pain they feel inside.
And in time if that pain doesn’t get turned into an entry, talk or rhyme,
It caused me to once follow little white lines.
But that was 2016,
I’ve been done, I’ve been clean. Don’t fucking ream me a new one.
I told you, I’m done and have won.
I have to thank my supporting team for letting me lean on their shoulders,
So I could stop thinking about little white boulders.
Their wasted space and lost times.
But after last night,
I’m going back to quote I said I was nine, that I wish I had said to myself last year, but I was doing way to much yay at the time-
“I don’t ever want to drugs, I don’t want to lose control”.
Beautiful girl, put up your curls, the world is about to throw you on a full forward motion into a hellish ocean.
That was five years before I’d being crying tears of,
I was his underage desire.
For I was convicted at fourteen to be made out to be nothing but a flower used for a thirty-two year old mans disgusting power-
And I can’t tell you the pain of the first hour when he first climbed on top of me to claim his power,
That first hot boiling shower-
That all ended up making me tower.
It ended without any wounds being mended.
Mentality addicted to chaos- I looked to every man as not a boyfriend but a boss.
I lived for the danger so I wanted to be its first ranger-
But I got tired of trying to find revenge in strangers.
A writers curse is both a blessing and a curse,
For I can write a verse in the middle of being so hurt;
I do it for me and my family who loves me so much, who has taken me to above and beyond.
This mass of energy is is something out of the world,
But I swear to you I’m fighting this battle with my hands and not a sword.
This is my world.
Let’s get out of my dark past,
Because look at where I am now, that traumatic bullshit never lasts,
It will always pass.
Beautiful girl who doesn’t let herself get called baby no more-
Because that name has scars beaten in.
Your life is at the touch up your fingertips- for the FINN.
Stop blaming yourself for all the treason-
NO REALLY STOP.
It wasn’t by no means yours, Dad’s, Matt’s or Mom’s fault that we all got written into his,
Dear Family who loves me endlessly,
I know sometimes I shout and scream-
Okay well maybe we all do on the daily,
But that’s because I want you all to see,
That I write these words carefully to help you three come to find,
That this happened to me and not you
And I know that sounds so selfish, but that just isn’t true.
Just trust that when I am not talking to you, I am writing for you, for me and for those who can’t find the light that I did to live,
Because in order to survive you have to give;
I know I am the prettiest when,
My smile shines the brightest-
And being a write-tress
is a blessing and curse,
that makes me