Stuck In The Basement

Tue, 10/13/2015 - 12:24 -- Max M

i was fourteen years old

i had just turned fourteen years old.

our first kiss was electric.

magic. i stood on my

tippy toes, but still got cuts on the sensitive bridges

of both feet.


I told you about the time I was ten,

in a hazy room filled with smoke.

I told you want the wall felt like

against my back, and how my mother

called my name, saving me from disaster,

although the damage was already done.

You asked me if I moaned.


i was fourteen years old

and I walked home with you.

we stood under a big oak tree.

i felt my back against it,

my voice was muted  by you.

nothing about it felt magic.


I touched a girl when I was seventeen.

I asked her time and time again if

she wanted me to love her that way,

and she continued to say yes. When

my fingers touched her, sparks ran through

my body. I didn’t know this could feel

like magic.


i was fourteen,

waiting outside your house

for my mom to pick me up.

you asked me, if i had ever seen

what you had to show me.

i said no.

i said i did not want to.

the next day,

i could no longer say no

to that very same question.


I was sixteen the next time

I let a boy show me that.

I felt dirty, in a dark hallway.

I kept my clothes on,

and closed my eyes.


i was fourteen,

in a dingy basement,

that smelt of mildew and sweat.

i sat on a work out bench,

and looked away as i preformed

my duties.

you asked for more,

i was not ready. i said no. i did not want to.

we were in the basement, you told me.

nobody would hear, nobody would know.

when you touched me,

i pretended to like it-

i just wanted it to end.


seven months later,

i was still fourteen,

and i sat with you,

listening to your story

about Skittle Vodka lining your throat,

as you lined hers.

she had raven black hair & more beauty

than i could ever hope to achieve.

i told you i was ready.

before we started, i began to cry.

i shook my head.




we were not in the basement,

and your mom could hear,

and you did not want your mother

to walk in on you raping a girl,

so you stopped.


i was the one who was crazy,

you always told me.

i was pulled by my wrists,

and pushed and hit,

in front of our friends,

in front of people who should have

taken care of me,

but instead,

i was in trouble, for causing

a disturbance, by screaming.

i was crying, hysterical, they said.

nobody took my word for truth,

because you told them i

was the one who was crazy.


Just your typical

crazy ex girlfriends.

Forget the cheating,

forget the fighting,

forget the pushing,

forget the crying.

It was all my fault.

Our friends were your friends,

you were always there;

I was stuck in the basement

time and time again.


When I was sixteen,

we were at a graduation party.

Nobody said you would be there.

I pulled at my hair and picked at my skin.

I found time to hide

in the bathroom.

I pulled out a blade,

which I kept between the back

and the battery of my phone

(i once told you this made me feel crazy,

and you told me that I was)

and I slit my skin; trying to escape the basement again.


Now at nineteen,

I have proved your point.

You are in love-

with the raven haired beauty-

and I have never had sex naked.

I am away, being treated

for insanity.

I have always been crazy.

I tell the doctors, who ask the same questions,

who look at the same scars.

I say I was not trying to kill myself,

and they believe me.

They believe you, too,
that I have always been crazy.

This poem is about: 


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