“No really. Thank you. I was thinking of just going crazy black girl on their ass. I’m glad you managed to find another satisfying way of getting revenge. Tearing up that face she tries so hard to protect.” Again I only shrugged. After a while of silence she spoke again. “Hey, Snow,” She began. Her voice was low, sweet, hesitant but confident. “want to try dating?

            My head snapped to her face. “Just because I’m bisexual does not mean I will date anyone.” I proclaimed insulted.

            “Yeah, no, I know. But face it snow, you aren’t really good at keeping your crushes a secret. I mean, you tricked me into grinding against you when we were ten.”

            “I-I was ten. It’s been four years since then, my taste could have changed. I mean if I liked you back then and all…” I spoke away from her not having the confidence to say it to her face.

            She called to me; her voice laced in sarcasm. She continued repeating my name until I turned to her. She was so close the corners of our lips touched as I turned. She backed her face away a little so she could examine my face properly. “Then why are you blushing?”

            “B-because! O-o-ou-our lips just touched! Anyone who doesn’t have much experience would blush!” I tried to talk my way out of it but my body was stiff with excitement. “Besides, if I did date you I would just be a rebound. It’s kind of messed up that you would do that to me. And! You don’t even like girls. You shouldn’t try dating girls just because you think since most girls know how it feels to be hurt she won’t hurt you. Girls can hurt boys too you know. Girls hurt ten times worst. Just look at the tramp. Apparently she had a boyfriend too. She cheated on her sophomore, and baby daddy, boyfriend with an eighth grader. That’s among the biggest insults you could do to a guy in high school.”

            She was silent for a while. I was squirming in my spot unsure, nervous, and excited. She was right about one thing; I was no good at keeping my crushes a secret especially after getting kissed by them. I kept thinking about how soft that corner of her lips was. How delicious the taste of tequila tasted on her lips. I bite my lip remembering it. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

Disgusting.

     I never go on facebook, mainly because I don't like social networking sites. But while surfing through 'friends you may know' I saw a name I recognized but a face I didn't. So I clicked in. I found this boy I knew from elementary only now he was a lot cooler and better looking than before. I'm not saying he was cute, because to me he wasn't even slightly attractive, but he looked better than before. It was not until after that I realized it could have just been someone else with the same first name, because I couldn't seem to remember his last name at the time. Still, I realized something.
     I always stand against bullying and say I hate it and the people who do it, but I was one of them, to this boy at least. Sometimes. I would make fun of him and blackmail him with horror stories from third grade (peeing yourself in class is something you can never out live). It's not that I was so bad or mean that he hated me, he liked me and we got along fine, but I still sometimes playing bully with him.Yet when people made fun of him or made him cry I would go crazy trying to defend him.
     The point is: when I made him cry, or sad, in return I had a gratifying feeling. And I find that disgusting.
     That I could find happiness from someone elses pain scares me more than anything. I do not want to be labeled a sociopath or some other kind of -path I just want to be happy. But then as I was writing this I realized this happened in sixth grade.
     That was the period in which my parents were going through a divorce and I was no longer the only kid in class with parents who were still together. I was coming to terms with my father being from a third world country from where a women's place is the kitchen and her king, her husband. A father who I learned told my mother to get an abortion the moment he learned I had been conceived. A father who, now that I learned, was mentally and emotionally abusing me and was neglecting me. A father who called me an idiot and was convinced I would never amount to anything in life. A father who my mother felt sure would try to kidnap if he had the chance.
     This is the man that 'raised' me. This was only a short list of things he did to me, the list of mental and emotional abuse he did to my mother could go on forever. An abuse I never even noticed.
     And I realize, now, that the reason I found happiness in his, the boy I bullied, pain is because my home life went to shit in a matter of two seconds.
    In these two seconds two things happened; One: my mother was physically abused, for the first time. And two: I saw it.

As a child

Dismembered on the inside

smiling on the outside.

I still hear my cries

from when my father hit my mom.

The slap still echos

through the valleys of my mind.

The first act of violence

I've ever been scared of.

As a child of nine

dealing with the pain

of losing a father

who never cared

being reminded

your just like him

they turn their back

and say bad things.

Does this mean

I'm as bad as him?

As a child of ten I had no way

to deal with the pain.

Going against my family

and going insane.

Acting like an angel

with good grades.

While lying to my mother

and going to a club.

Having a boyfriend

and going to his house.

As a child of eleven

I discovered sharp objects.

Feelings tearing away

from the inside out.

Taking the razor

and dragging it

across my wrist.

They took away the pain

of being me.

As a child of twelve

I discovered hot metal objects.

Placing them against my skin

feeling the tear down my cheek.

The discolored skin

of being burned

by a flat iron.

It eliminated the pain.

As a teen of fourteen

I discovered my mother was a liar.

She promised never to get married.

She doesn't even love him.

Yet here I am

being torn away

from my mother

and left with my grandmother

like a piece of luggage.

She didn't even care.

I continued with my escapes.

As a teen of fifteen

I discovered something

I don't very much like

my family.

No one noticed

when I started to change.

The black pants and shirts.

The sudden want of darkness and cold.

Long sleeves in the middle of summer.

No skin shown when it's 100 degrees.

No one ever noticed

how much pain I hid.

No one ever cared

to undo the mask

that hid my pain.

No one ever cared

enough to make me change.

So I lie here in my grave.

At the age of sixteen

because I discovered

I never meant a thing.

Oh Momma

‘Mom, mom, mom,
Mommy, mommy, mommy
Maria, Maria, Maria’
‘What’
‘I love you’
I turn around and walk away
I picture your smile on your face
I want to turn around
To see it one more time
But I fear if I do
I might break down and cry

Battered and used
By the man you loved
Watched helplessly by the blood filled couch
As the man you loved beat your child
You wanted to help me
Believe me momma I know
It’s not your fault
Why I do what I will
But the pain the man caused is just so real

Please forgive me
For what I do
Say you’ll forgive me
For what I say
There’s not much any one can do
Forgive yourself for what you think
You didn’t raise me like this
But the pain is still in your eyes
I want to make you feel safe again

I’ll take this razor and slit his wrists
Take a bat and break his ribs
Shatter a beer bottle on his head
Nail his hand to the coffee table
Cut his precious toy off and hang it above the mantel
Make him scream for help
And watch the salty tears run down his face
Make him feel what we both felt
And when I’ve finally had enough
I’ll take the gun and put it to his head

And when I’m done
I’ll take the gun and run
So you won’t feel more pain
I’ll lay your worries at rest
I’ll take this next right and jump
to my glorious death

Excuse the sarcasm.

Does it look like I need your help?

I'm perfectly fine

these tears won't stain.

What tears you ask,

oh the tears that hide beneath my skin.

They slither down when they think no bodies looking

It's fine

It doesn't hurt a bit

I'm used to it.

They come out when my hearts alone

because no one can see it.

You see it's broken and torn

missing pieces oh and how big the hole is.

I don't need your help

It's fine it doesn't hurt

it helps if you keep it bottled up

it helps if you alienate your self.