Content warning:graphic description of sexual assault and violence; offensive language.
the cocked gun
by mahalia
i’m so fucking sick of this fucking bullshit
sick to fucking death
of my personal self care
my fucking self sabotage
please somebody
tell me why the fuck i keep doing this -
let me set the scene
it’s a weeknight and i’ve decided
to treat myself
ordered myself take away
poured myself a glass or two of wine
settled down
and suddenly
i’m a bottle or more deep
a bottle or more down
and i'm fucking crying again
again
and i don’t mean that cathartic crying, that wow life is short and beautiful and isn’t it beautiful how people love and feel things
so deeply
i feel things so deeply
so fucking deeply.
and that’s why i'm crying
no wait,
it isn’t
it’s because i ignored the flashing lights, the warnings, the wailing banshee and her massive fucking neon sign saying, “bitch this is going to make you flashback to that day and that night and that day and that night
that day in the cubicle, or in that bed, your bed, or that night on the corner when he pushed you down and you felt like you were choking or maybe you really were choking on the mass of skin and muscle and whatever the fuck that thing is made of but fuck it has that distinct smell of regret, of of,” – i can’t
or was it the taste?
i don’t remember
and i don’t particularly want to
and yet fucking hell mahalia
you’ve done it again
you’re here
pushing yourself to remember
for art? for – for – for what?
i've realised i need to do better at this whole take care self care look after yourself god-damn thing
and there’s a richness and a sweetness bitter and a realness and a “i want to know-ness” “i need to know-ness”
about these pictures on my screen
that satisfaction of the duh dun
and we know how this story ends
and we still listen to that song to make us cry
and the absolute mess of the credits
my mess
i'm the mess
i'm a mess
the nightmares and the sleep to escape
such a cyclical fucking narrative
because if you didn’t fucking know,
you dream when you sleep,
well i nightmare when i sleep.
and so, if you didn’t get it by now – this is how i feel about trigger warnings
because this is how i feel about my triggers
how i feel about my trauma
i don’t want it
i don’t want it to hold me
back
hold me
down
hold me
in
it’s a big red censor
on me
and my life and my whole fucking sense of self
because god-damn i'm trying to learn and get better at knowing
all because someone decided to rape me, assault me, scare me
i don’t want this
we don’t want this
we aren’t soft
snowflakes
sad little pretty girls who just don’t understand that sometimes the world can be scary
we had something taken from us,
pushed onto us, into us,
trickling out of us, leaving a bruise on our hearts and our minds and our fucking neck and pussy and our arms and wrists and thighs
so no – i don’t want to have to have – to have to need –
a fucking trigger warning
but i'm realising more and more
i should really listen
if i want to do this whole self care thing
and you know what? – you should too
listen to them and – fuck – maybe listen to us too
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