I told my mom about events from my past,
events that shaped my bitter bones,
memories that will forever last.

I regret telling her
I had no friends until age 9
and that people would tell me
that they wish I would die.
I should have never informed her
that when I was young,
the pain people would bring to me,
tell me that I would never feel love.
I wish I didn't let her know
of the words people would constantly throw
my way.
How I would beg the teachers daily,
to not force me to go out to "play".

I was so ashamed
of the 12 grades of toucher,
until the day I was finally free.
But unfortunately,
all this damage,
it has taken far too much
away from me.

Now I am uncomfortable,
knowing that she now knows
everything I have kept covered.
I don't like people's concerns,
it makes me uneasy when they care;
I become smothered.