"Look in the mirror already
You're ugly, unattractive
And way too awkward
For anyone to give a **** about."
I step back, trying to whimper a reply.
All I can manage to stammer is
People like m--
"No, they don't"
She adds
"They just pretend like they do
So you don't flip out.
People don't like dealing with drama
And honey, you are drama.
People don't like fixing messes
And sweetheart, you make things messy.
You know you do."
I back down, submitting.
I think of a way to beat her
I go to the bathroom
Fix my unkempt hair
My crooked smile
My scarred and rigid skin
That has gotten that way from picking and cutting.
At this, she laughs.
"Try again, darling.
Pathetic doesn't even begin to describe you,
You worthless *******."
I face her, this time meeting her eyes.
But my voice still shakes.
I'm pretty
You know I am
I have something spe--
"No you don't, you little *****.
You're just a mediocre version of everyone else.
You have no talents.
The only thing you're good at
Is giving boys exactly what they want
Or letting them take it from you."
That one stings.
A tear rolls down my cheek
And she absolutely loves the defeat welling
Behind my bloodshot eyes.
My molestation was not my faul--
"But you could have stopped it, no?
Everything you do is a disgrace, and you know it.
You disappoint your parents
Your friends
Your teachers
Your family.
You are nothing.
No one will ever want you.
No one would give two *****
If you dropped dead right now.
They'd actually appreciate it."
This series of "you can't"'s
Gives me a sudden shock wave of confidence
Or is it bravado?
I glare at her square in the face
And say, with no stutter
Don't you dare ******* tell me
That no one would miss me if I died.
I said it, and it shut her up for a while.
Now the next step is
For me to bring myself
To really believe those words.