Throughout my experience, I have found that expressing myself through writing has helped me find peace and relief. Below are a few of my favorite pieces that have helped me overcome these experiences. I do want to add a trigger warning, and conformation that I am safe and okay.

An Artist by Any Other Name

She was never good with a pencil or pen.
What she was good with, was a blade.
Her skin as her canvas.
She drew beautiful art that only she would ever see.
Only she would ever understand the intricate lines
that decorated her curves.

Smile

It’s about a girl.
Just as she was beginning to climb out of the darkness
she had once succumbed to,
she tripped.
She begins to fall back into old habits,
bad habits.
One night she begins to realize she can’t think
of much that makes her smile anymore.
So she decides to draw a smile that will stay on her forever,
as long as she cuts deep enough.
Right on her hip.
Now whenever she looks in the mirror
she’ll see two eyes and a red smile looking back up at her.
And she can’t help but smile back.
An artist she is.
With a blade as her brush and
her canvas being her smooth skin.
She’s a happy girl,
for she always wears a smile.

A Body

That’s all I am.
A body.
That’s all anyone sees.
My ass. My tits. My legs.
That’s all they wanna see. That’s all anyone cares about.
I was so young when I was first used for my body.
I didn’t understand what was happening.
All I knew was that I liked the attention. The words they said.
It kept happening.
All the words were about my body.
I’ve grown up learning how to better show myself off.
Smaller clothes. Less clothes.
How to pose in a mirror for a picture.
If I push my elbows together they look better.
Turn my foot in and pop my hip a little.
That’s what they like. That’s what makes them say all the nice things.
Even now, I do all I can to turn heads and catch eyes.
I need their attention.
I only get that attention with my body.
That’s my currency. My one hope.
And boy do I know how to show it off well

So Many Hands

So many hands have touched my skin.
So many hands that should not be there.
I said no.
I asked them to stop.
I pushed their hands away.
They got so much farther than I ever wanted them to.
If I just go numb, I can pretend like it’s not happening.
I can pretend I’m someone else.
I can pretend I’m not this girl with so many hands all over her.
Hands she does not know.
The hands touch what they want and take what they can.
I’ve become used to their forcefulness.
The lust they trace with their fingertips.
They caress my curves as if I let them love me the way they wish they could.
Oh how they wish I loved them.

Power

As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned just how much power I really hold.
How many people I have wrapped around my finger.
How many men will do anything I ask of them.
All I have to do is sway my hips,
flash my stomach,
show my smile,
and their will is mine.
So much power is held in this nice ass of mine.

-Maisy Johnson (she/her)