Oh man.
I was so young.
Almost too young
to experience any of this.
Where do I begin?

You were just a stranger,
a disgusting, vile human being.
You stole me away.
How was I supposed to know it was wrong?
Rubbing and touching. I hate you.

You left me alone, confused,
unaffected. Who even were you?
How curious that this would happen
to little old me. But it was my fault.
So I pulled on my little shirt and jeans, and left.

Then everything was calm.
I forgot about it,
because I could,
and I can.
I refuse to ever be broken by you.

But it started again.
I was older, but still young.
You were charming, exciting, caring.
Then your hand started coming down
on my tear streaked face.

I was out of line, wasn't I?
That's why I would accidentally fall down
your basement stairs. Or fall on the vase
I so carelessly knocked over.
Those cuts on my back? My fault.

My emotions died down the day you
decided to leave. Another state, a happy me.
I forgot about you, the scars disappeared
along with the scraps of my innocence.
I was changed.

After all of my waiting,
there you were with open arms.
I knew you were the right choice.
You planted soft kisses on every
sore spot on my body, and made me feel.

I loved every part of you, and I still do.
From the scar on your chin,
to the scars on your wrists.
I loved how every touch from you
was like a hit of ecstasy.

But all things must come to an end.
I got that call that you would never
be you again. A simple handful of
your lovely pills. It was my fault.
Because it's always my fault.

My knight in shining armor came to save me.
But he had some baggage,
some very important baggage.
His 'good friends' took me away,
and made a fool out of me.

I fought, and screamed no, no, no.
They could hear me, through every second
of every minute they were using me,
touching me,
taking me away. It's okay, it was my fault.

It happened once,
twice,
three times. Separate.
I forgot about every single one.
I'll always forget and continue on, by myself.

It took a while,
but I finally realize why I am the way I am.
The empathetic young girl who's mentally
too old for her own good.
She's seen too much, been through too much.

She'll always blame herself for it,
it's in her nature,
she hates conflict.
And all she wants is stability,
someone to sweep her away, and make her feel safe.

Which she hasn't felt in years.

If you cut her open
I'm almost positive
that you'll choke on a cloud
of cigarette smoke
and glitter.

Then when you look back
on this sorry life,
you'll see a teenage girl
who watches too much TV
and smokes too much ****.

When you see what she went through
and how she brushes it all off,
you'll see her quietly in her room
sobbing,
roughly swallowing those tiny pills.

But she'll get back up,
you'll remember
how every day she'll jokingly
talk about her imminent demise
but do you ever see the truth behind it?

She just wants to have fun,
but the damage that was done to her
****** it all up,
so then the fun
turns into an outlet to forget.

With all the flashing lights she sees
to the flashbacks she endures,
to the strangers she welcomes
to the strange ones she avoids,
she does it all with a cynical smile.

This girl will continue to burn her insides
and pop those
sweet pills,
she'll down that liquid that
burns her throat, to make her smile.

So if you cut her open
I'm almost positive
you'll find charred organs
and confetti.
She's a whir of reality and euphoria.