I’m not that girl. I won’t be that girl. I have worked too hard to become a good human. I worked too hard to like myself. To be someone to be proud of. I won’t become someone little Lindsey wouldn’t be proud of. Nothing is worth that little girl’s opinion.
I will stay determined. I will stay focused. I will not break. I will not be weak. I do hard things. I will be the most regulated adult in the room. This will not be my story.
Some people are held captive by their own minds.
Some people are ripped apart and tortured by the person they see in the mirror.
I can’t do that.
I can’t look at you, knowing what we know and hate you.
I see the x-rays, and I feel the shifting bones.
I know the damage and the stories carved into this body.
If I let you be my enemy, then I will be truly alone.
You, my mighty protector.
My house still standing after the big bad wolf came to blow you down.
You still stand after the fire, the hurricane, the earthquake and everything else he threw at you.
How can I hate these feet that keep me moving?
These legs that spent years being cradled and sobbed on?
I feel the divots and sharp edges of what’s left of your rib cage.
You were crushed over and over but these organs still working.
I’ll take the occasional pain as reminders.
How can I hate Cleopatra when she still gives such pleasure, beauty and power after being brutally invaded and violated. Saving me from much worst warfare. Being the sacrifice.
How can I hate these arms that protected my face from becoming a billboard of my past.
The dark memories are vandalized on the wall of my skull.
This mind of mine was once my safest, happiest place to live, how can I hate it?
It’s where I hide the treasures.
The things just out of everyone’s reach.
The only place he had no key to.
The piano sounds Apple says I listened the most to in 2024.
Her hyperness when her meds wear off.
The green of his eyes I see every time it rains.
Good morning texts.
Holding of hands that once shielded the abuse.
My blue couch.
The tone of her voice when she says, “GUTTER BITCH or titty baby”, her fake Italian grandmother’s accent.
Blue
Showers too long.
Giggles, stories, jokes.
Seeing her face walk through the door, knowing she won the war of getting out of bed.
Cinnamon Tea, and coffee, Hallmark movies.
Doris Doloris, who will be the biggest heart break of all.
The shock in a broken face meeting strength for the first time.
The Professor getting excited to tell me about the girl he likes or the sex he had.
Books in The Nook.
Blankets and hockey sweats.
The end of the day when I lay my head down and remind myself this life is real, and I will wake up still safely in it.
Smells of honeysuckle, sugar plums, and favorite flannels.
Lovers that forever stain the walls of this heart.
So much feminine rage and way too many damn shoes.
Stop apologizing for living. No one knows what they’re doing and no one’s doing it right. Which means everyone is. Stop saying sorry for making mistakes you’re not making. It’s just a plot twist.
Dear girl,
Leave him. Please leave him. He’ll never change, and you’ll just end up with a fucked up skeleton that makes you fall on the kitchen floor needing someone else to help you. Or he’ll kill you. You’re too important to lose. Somewhere out there there’s another little girl that needs you to tell your story to save her.
Dear girl,
Stop being afraid to tell someone you want to join them. Take the chance. People like you. Geronimo baby. Make your own fucking rules.
Dear girl,
Stop letting those demons in your head work overtime. I’m sure they’re tired.
Dear girl,
Explore the world. And do it alone. Do it with people, but only people that don’t suck.
Dear girl,
Your family are not the people that surrounded you when you were born. Family are the people that show up on a rainy Saturday morning just to support your dreams.
Dear girl,
He’s wrong, you’re right. Stop shutting up. You are smarter than that. You could run circles around those tiny tittybabies. Also dawk them in the face.
Dear girl,
Be gay, be so fucking gay. Be open and be proud.
Dear girl,
Brag about yourself, you’re so fucking cool.
Dear girl,
Say NO. A lot. All the time. Never stop.
11.9.23
Early Tuesday morning I sat in a crowded court room.
I remember practically nothing.
Only two people knew I was there.
Neither being my spouse or mother.
I’ve never disassociated so well as I did when the attorney pointed the remote to the tv.
Probably 40 people.
Dressed nicely.
Watching my rape like it was the morning announcements in high school.
Just another Tuesday.
For the judge, the attorneys, the accused.
“Is this you in the video, Lindsey?” The attorney asked.
Snapping me out of my safe disassociated state.
She repeated herself.
“Is this you in the video, Lindsey?”
I couldn’t speak; an issue I rarely have.
I looked at my shaking hands placed in my lap.
The writing that covered the left palm read “Today, you become his nightmare.”
I lifted my head, stared right into the cold eyes I once felt not good enough to look at.
And spoke the biggest thing I’ve ever said.
“Yes.”
11.9.23
You are smart, strong, and important.
I will forgive you.
I will never stop building you.
You are smart, strong, and important.
I will choose you over doubt, fear, and expectations of others.
I will love the you, you have created yourself to be.
You are smart, strong, and important.
I will honor the you, you had to kill to become this.
I will remember what you went through without haunting you with it.
You are smart, strong, and important.
I will continue to advocate for you.
I will continue to unapologetically protect you.
You are smart, strong, and important.
I will show up for you everyday, even if I’m not the person I want to be that day.
I will continue to break walls.
You are smart, strong, and important.
books, writings, shoes & nudes 