emotions are valid!

"Penance"

Throwing down the letters in disgust, he screams out,"Fuck
that bitch!"How could she?!?!While I am in here? Why? Does shereally love me,
Did she ever? He once again flips through the last couple of letters she has
sent .The poem makes him feel so bad but that's her talent .He laughs to
himself she might not feel anything this might all be game. He stares at these
abused pieces of notebook paper and for the first time he realizes that some
spots on the paper have been dripped on with water or something, especially
where her hand-writing becomes erratic and hard to read. She was crying? He
sighs and puts his letters back in his personal belongings "I just need time to
think on this" he mumbled quietly to himself as he headed out to recreation.

A week had slowly passed by since she sent her confession in
hopes that the truth would set her free. She hated the thought of him thinking
of her as a common whore but she had to agree. "OH god ,I am so disgusting!"
she cries out to an empty house and thoughts of razors and suicide dance
through her extremely tortured psyche. If she keeps this up she is going to get
caught, but if she doesn't survive this god awful shit .She will only hurt him
more she reasons, as she pours herself another mixed drink. I tried to stop
getting fucked up but then I really fucked up .She winces as she pulls down the
cups of her bra to inspect the spider web of shallow cuts marking each breast.
Well, not infected she tells herself in a hollow attempt to find a bright side.
I need him, but I don't think he wants a girl like me. A girl who has such
difficult needs to fulfill , such as a need for punishment and forgiveness. Or
to be held when she falls apart, even though she won't admit it.As she searches
for some shorts to wear she absentmindedly grabs her black short shorts .She
pulls them on and sighs. They don't cover her other "art pieces" on her upper  thighs. The word slut carved in to her pale
skin in a nasty contrasting red. Her father is home .He is screaming .She
throws on a longer pair of shorts and rushes down stairs to appease the beast.

"Hells yeah" ,he shoots back to a fellow inmate as he heads
into his cell. He lays down and his mind drifts to thunderstorm nights,
Innocent lips, and a firecracker spirit. "What happened to that Kate?" ,he
ponders aloud. Then unwelcome thoughts rolled through his mind of drugs,
treason, and tears. The first time she slapped him. The way she tried to stop
being silly. She changed for me, Or because of me? What is it this girl needs
from me I love her more than I have ever loved anybody. Isn't that enough? It
damn well should be. He sighs Not wishing to fully acknowledge the numerous
occasions she gave up everything that mattered to be by his side .To take care
of him. How does a girl talk someone who hates her into a 2 hour long trip to
the hospital for a 15 minute visit? OR talk her parents into taking me in when
I was so heavily injured, But had just kicked her out of my house for cutting
her arm. Oh god that day. We had been doing great I guess, We smoked pot all
day she had plenty of cash from selling her aussie. She gave me blowjobs like 3
times a day. Then I started to go out and get fucked up leaving her alone all day,
knowing no one. Playing video games, No kisses No hugs just numb, the way I was
used to. She confronted me on it after a couple evenings of this and I screamed
at her. She screamed right back to my surprise. "If you don't love me why don't
you fucking say it?!"she seethed. All I could say is "fine, I don't love you."
She looked so wounded like I had slapped her in the face.Tears welled up in her
eyes, her lip quivering with the effort to not cry. She turned and stalked off
into the room .Slammed the door and I did not bother to follow her. I knew she
was going to leave .I had fucked up again. Not with a coke head, but this young
naïve ball of love. I could hear her sobbing violently from the bathroom I
thought I should at least check on her. To my horror and disgust her arm was
covered in blood. Thoughts of my mother flitted through my mind and I got so
angry I thought I would  hit her. I told
her she was leaving That I was calling her mom to come get her .She begged and
pleaded told me she was sorry .I calmed her down long enough for her parents to
get there and when they did she rushed to hug me but I stepped back disgust
evident in my eyes .I murmured quietly with more venom than necessary , "I'm
alright"

The first time he broke my heart she mused to herself, I
remember getting home from his trailer blood still caked on my arm. I laid on
the living room couch not able, not willing to move. Every breath was a chore.
Wishing the ugly floral couch would swallow me up and I could just slip into
non-existence. All I could here in my head was the repeated mantra "he doesn't
love me, he doesn't love me, he doesn't love me." I Shook my head abruptly this
is not the time for depressed time travel. Fucking dogs ,Mom had just called
and requested a grooming of two to be shown off at work and was all kinds of
melodramatic about it. Between a guilty conscience, morbid depression, and
constant harassment from her completely unsupportive family she knew it was
coming. She was going to snap. Her dissociative state was climbing to near
psychotic levels. She had to hold on; he'd write her he would make everything
ok again. He would let her back into his world for all the times she had
forgiven him surely. Wouldn't he? Yet another tornado of doubt lifted her from
the here and now, to a nightmare world she hated .Must have sobered up." The
only way I will ever be able to let him love me is if he punishes me for all I have
done." She mused as she poured another rum and coke. She had tried before to
get him to help her in this way. To cleanse her of guilt so she could actually
be forgiven by him and by herself. She understood his reluctance to hit her or
whip her .To him hitting was abuse. To her it was a release of pent up guilt
resentment and stress. Pain being an international language, speaking to the filthiest
souls. He knew her deepest secrets, the sick things she had thought about. The
murderous predator within, a grownup version of the trembling scared little
girl who hid from tormentors every day. "There is no way he knows me and still
loves me" she cried, "I'm so sick, I have always been and I always will be."
She ruffled through her purse and fished out her new found companion. She
closed and locked the door to the bathroom and carved EVIL and WHORE into her
unadorned leg . When the blood clotted she washed it away and put her shorts
back on and walked out of the bathroom in a dazed manner, feeling better and
worse at the same time.