Hollow promises

As black as night can be

As deep as a wound can submerge

As bright as the light will go

Before it dims away

Fading, departing with the life

It shone

The black dulls into nothing

As the wound bleeds out

Swelling and splashing

Amongst this pain I feel

Pain that is silent but screaming

little by little

Thoughts streaming in and out

Making up scenarios to hurt me

Questions, doubts make me not want more

Superstitious intentions are withdrawn

Toxic seeds embedding inside me

Growing pains

Time will tick unwillingly

Timing of this demise

Of the end I can see

Accomplish nothing to be seen

‘Start of something’

Splashing my face abruptly with the water inside the sink that I had formed with a mixture of bulky scraps of stone and rock, I experience the coolness and richness of this life I have chosen. The water is untouched with no chemicals those scientists with lab coats mix into it then declare it sanitary, unsullied, the epitome of what atomy needs to live. Thirst thrived to encourage me to drink the water that fell from the sky. I shook myself, doglike. I do not longer ponder on what I look like, with no mirrors; it is hard to know what I have become. Whether I look my age anymore, whether I would be attractive or beautiful. The face I have now holds neither importance nor substance. I imagine that I have hollow looking eyes engulfed in blackness and weariness, with the paranoid eye movements resembling a cuckoo clock. My cheeks have caved in, become mountain peaks, white and pallid. My skin will look stretched with indents peaking and falling. It is best that I will never see my reflection again. I slashed my hair yesterday; it was no longer picturesque after the first week. Its length became difficult. I could not be the woman my ovaries designed me to be, the loss of my hair reinforces that I do not have a sex or gender. Why would it matter to any further extent, I am human, I can be independent and make choices according to what I think. I do not think like woman or man. I think as a person would. Doing this ritual reinforces how life has changed. Looks have no merit where I am. 

The Twisted Lure of Net-Predators

This is my outcry. My disgust, my hate and my heart. 

I am sick of the vile men in this world. My stomach churns at the thought that as I write this there are men out there grooming. It’s not even a thought, its a fact. It is a fact that as you read this, an innocent girl will be reading the messages from a man posing. I feel sick to the core that we cannot prevent this. We can put in place things, but it is an illusion. I can easily enter a chatroom right now and get chatting within the hour. That’s all it takes…

I don’t think these young girls are warned enough. I don’t think they understand what these chatrooms are for. Maybe at an older age you are mature enough. But, I don’t think we as a society are protecting the younger generation. Especially with this giant push in technology. All these websites, chatrooms, groups, private messages, twitter ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect ect.

“Nearly 75 percent of victims who met offenders face-to-face did so more than once.”

I am going to confess something. It’s hard for me to admit this, but for this cause it is important. Maybe you might read my post and just think this is a generic post, it’s just for entertainment, that kind of thing. But, I know all about young girls and chatrooms, because when I was a 13 year old I used a chatroom called QUEEP.

I was an innocent, lonely girl. I found myself obsessing. Obessing over having someone to talk to. Obsessing whether I was able to fit in. My ‘friends’ were all adults. I found myself falling deeper and deeper. Being pulled into a hole, a hole full of things a girl should never find. Full of whispers. Full of pretence and lies. I heard whispers in this hole. The voices made me feel sick, violated. I didn’t know where they were coming from or what they wanted. All I knew is that I was safe in that hole, in my room, with my phone. I knew that I could not go beyond this hole to know the faces belonging to these voices, I even was able to say ‘No’. I knew not to tell them my address or my full name. I was quite mature. I almost found it a test, I wanted to see how far I could push a stranger. How sick they could go.

 “Internet offenders manipulate young people into criminal sexual relationships by appealing to young people’s desire to be appreciated, understood, take risks, and find out about sex.”

Now, I think about those adults I had regular chats to. I think about how I got away. How it could of so easily been different. I probably was in danger. I more than likely was speaking to a freak. A twisted fuck, who was sat grooming me, amongst others my age (more than likely)

And I let myself be drawn in.

Now, older and mature, I realise how easy it is for girls to find themselves in the same situation. Being told things and having to grow up in conversations to enable them to hold a mature person.

I think that there should be more films, advertisements and documentaries that are in place to educate. I think that with real life stories, it will make people realise it does happen. People always think it won’t happen to them, or their daughters, nieces, grandchildren ect. But it does. Maybe not their daughter, but someone else’s.

I plea that young girls will know not to turn to the internet. It can be the perfect place for those in society who are twisted.

Read this: http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/story?id=3742297&page=1#.UdSiKRZBQy4

As quoted- “The boogey man is real. And he lives on the Net. He lived in my computer — and he lives in yours,” she said, looking at the lawmakers. “While you are sitting here, he is at home with your children.”