My eyes are weary
and teary.
My smile is faded
and painted.
My heart is torn
and forlorn.

I'm broken, dear.
Far too broken, I fear.

(d.d.b)

Why do people lie,
about such serious things?

"Your case will be looked at."
"He'll be brought to justice."
"No one is angry at you."
"It's not your fault."

Those things were said,
but I swear,
none of them were meant.
Because it's been seven months since I reported him,
and not a **** thing has happened in my favor.

My case hasn't even hit the district attorney,
and either way, I've been told it most likely won't pass.

My ****** gets to walk free;
free to violate other women,
and free for me to have to see him often
in this annoyingly small town.

My parents are ashamed.
We don't talk about it anymore;
hell, we hardly ever did.
They were angry at me.
Not him.
Never him.

All I've been shown,
is that it's my fault for letting him inside.
It's my fault for befriending him.
It's my fault that he didn't listen when I said no.

I fear this situation will never be resolved,
and I am forever cursed to carry this burden
alone.

So don't lie to me about such things.
Because I'll see the truth anyways.  

(d.d.b)

It doesn't matter.
Don't you see?
You can break and batter,
but I'm still me.

You can punch and kick,
and shout verbal abuse,
But you don't get to pick;
I'm not a tool for your use.

I may be hurt and scarred
but you cannot change me.
You can make my life hard,
but I'm still what you see.

For better or for worse, I'm still me.


(d.d.b)

I don't want to fall asleep becuase I know you'll be in my nightmares

Your touch.
Your voice.
Your sly smile.

The way you always take "No"
to mean "Yes."

I fight the unconciousness my body craves to save my mind from the vicious terror that is the memory of you*


(d.d.b)

My heart is a pin cushion.
Various people have stuck needles
into it; but that's its purpose.
That's the good part.

The bad part, you see,
is when the needles are taken out.
I no longer have a meaning,
and I no longer feel loved
or useful.

Because what is a pin cushion
without needles?
I've got the holes
where they once were,
but that is all I have.

My heart is a petty, scarred
little pin cushion.
And there aren't any needles in sight.

(d.d.b)