When I came to you,
You were but a child.
Innocent, almost,
Your innocence was fading.
But before it could leave quietly,
It would be ripped away from you.
And I would take it's place.
My gentle touch, the whispers in your mind.
I never hurt, that was yourself.
I'm just a guest in your mind,
But I'm not leaving.
I encourage you,
But you can not blame me
For the scars you made, my dear.
Silly kid, you did that to yourself.

While fate is cruel,
Chance is graceful,
Desperately trying to grant us
a reprieve from fate's cruel ways.

There are two types of tears.

The hot tears that pour from you eyes, suddenly before you realize you're crying. The violent , unrestrained sobbing.

And the cold tears that slide down your cheek as you fight the urge to cry. Quiet, and choked back tears.

I'm going to assume you had a mother,
as so many do.
You might even have a sister.
One day, you'll be a father.
It might be a daughter.

I'm someone's daughter.
Don't you understand?
I'm not just an object.
How would you feel,
if someone did this to your daughter
or mother or sister or friend?

I feel your eyes, trained on my back and lower.
Pretending not to notice, I keep a steady pace.
The click of my heels beat with the staccato of my heart.