How could it be that some get away with murder,
After I wasted 27 hours of being pocked and pried open
Do you know what its like to try and defecate after having an unwanted entity repeatedly shoved in and out of you? Back side.
These are the gritty details no survivor has had the balls the speak of.
As you grit your teeth, regretting eating that first meal since the event,
I couldn’t starve myself anymore. Even for me…
Clenching onto the closest thing to you, it sounded like I was being raped all over again in my bathroom.
This made me scared of food, doing the most natural human functions,
What the fuck?!
I still hear my fathers muffled tears through the door. He never left my side, and if I had let him come in,
He would have held his sixteen-year-old like she was six
And couldn’t go to the bathroom without Daddy holding her, or at least outside the door.
For fear of Pennywise appearing out from the floor.
But Pennywise later came to her,
In his different forms
Of three demons,
Shaped like men.
Each snarling, drooling, waiting to feed off her fear such as IT.
But Bev boasted herself from the book and through her bones
Looking the dancing clowns in the eye and said
“I’m not scared of you.”
January embers always save her day.
In awareness of the “#Me Too” trend,
Thank you, Alyssa Milano, for being the first to send out the inspiration outline for this trend.
Authors note: I am profoundly and wholeheartedly broken at the horrific news of the passing of a magnificent young woman. Who walked hand in hand into a job with me, we both dreamed of pursuing. Though I suffered a loss and hardship and had to let my dream sail sadly away- she continued her journey. Rouge waves wrongfully have affected everyone that she left her beaming essence on. Rest in paradise, door buddy. I am proud to publish my first ever Julia-Katherine original poetry piece. That will forever be in honor of cash-wrap partner, Suzy-Q.
I’ve never been called a crybaby
But you have made me cry lately.
My stage calls. My beautiful cast members need me,
I must cover up now.
I’ve never been known as a crybaby, but you’ve made me cry lately
How could someone who was once so beautiful to me,
Turn out to be
So damn ugly.
In the quickness
I M P A C T
And I did.
I’ve never won anything in my life
Except to be the champion
At catching myself in the numbered statistics
In which one in four women and children get
Your blow sent me
C A S C A D I N G
Tearing, ripping, bleeding
Through the branches, twigs, and trees.
Through familiar and unwordly mental territory
That was sworn by myself…
N * E * V * E *R
To be disturbed again.
I got up from your blow
And was bleeding
“For no goddamn reason, little girl.”
They empty reasoning of three pairs of eyes
Three too many.
I calmed your demons as you used me as your antidote.
Thinking you slapped all the sweetness,
after roughly sniffing in all my fears.
*inhale, inhale, inhale*
Your fangs were dripping white lies, like your nostrils.
*exhale, exhale, exhale*
Trying to use me to satisfy that
Hunger. To fill that painful appetite.
Poor little boy.
You were never taught to fend for yourself. And that is why you seek wrongful “retribution.”
At the perfectly contoured corners, of my- of her, highlighted cheekbones.
Out of my sweet, rare soul.
Now, I laugh at you.
And though the strikes you lassoed to my face
From the claws of your unearthly species
Did not fatally destroy me
The blows from others of your kind have.
And they have taken.
To what do you owe the mentally misdriven reason to think you may even think of laying your satanically scarred hands on our bodies.
Not all of us have made it through the tree.
1 in 4
But some of us
1 IN 4
ONE IN FOUR
Survived, once again.
O * N * E
I * N
F * O * U * R
My sweet sister, may your angel wings thrive, develop and spread virtue to the ones who need it most. Though you are not here to spread inspiration for your daughter, in teaching her- her worth and what an example of a woman her mother is. You are still here. Your smile still lingers with me, door buddy. This is for you.