I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

what's up?                                                      

                                                                                                                 I love you
          
no you don't        

                                                  ­                                                                 ­  yes I do
                                                              ­                I love you more than the stars
                                                           ­                         in the sky. I love you more
                                                                ­                than the drops in the ocean. I
                                                               ­               love you more than the words
                                                           ­                         in my favorite book. I love
                                                                ­                you more than the flowers in
                                                                ­                  a meadow. I love you more
                                                                ­                  than the hairs on my head. I
                                                                ­               love you more than the times
                                                           ­                         I've kissed you. I love you
                                                                ­                              more than the times I
                                                                ­                WANTED to kiss you. I love
                                                                ­                     you more than anything. I
                                                               ­                 have an endless love for you

                                                            ­                             Message Canceled

                                                    ­                                             you're right, I don't

I am quiet. I am shy. But don’t you dare think for a minute that that means I have no voice. I am short, and I don’t speak unless called on, but don’t you dare think that that means that I am any less of a person. I have a voice, and I will be heard. I was forgotten on the bus because I was too quiet, too small, too shy. I am afraid to look people in the eye, to walk past a male without feeling in danger. I have been shoved, pushed, squished, and squashed! So I am fed up, and trust me, you don’t want to make me mad.

I am 14, I am a female, and I have a voice! I have opinions, and you **** well better listen! I will have opinions about my life, and I will have a say in the matter. You can try to put me down, but I’m already short! You wanna know why us short people have such fiery tempers? It’s because we are closer to hell. And we will give it to you too.

Don’t you dare tell me that I can’t. I can do anything, and I will do it better than you ever could. I was captain of my baseball team for 5 years. Yes, that’s right boys, I, the quiet, nerdy, small girl bossed your ***** around on the field.

My step-father insists I have no voice. Now, as I’ve said before, you know I do. My step-father insists that I am too young, my step-father insists, that I, know nothing. I want to yell, I want to scream out: “YES I DO!” But my mother insists I stay quiet. My mother insists that I should submit to his whims, my mother insists that I must behave for him, to not anger him, DO NOT ANGER THE BEAST! This is what I am taught every day!

Don’t you dare make him mad, don’t you dare have opinions, don’t you dare have a say. Because you are a 5’4, 14 year old female, raised by a single mother and a ***** donor. Because you come from the bottom of the heap, so why should you? Because you are bullied, because you are quiet, shy, short, nerdy, and you want to have a voice.