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