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You called it love. But love doesn’t feel like chains. Love doesn’t crawl into the cracks of a child’s mind and whisper, stay quiet. Your love was manipulation. Your touch—control. Your voice, a weapon dressed in kindness. And I... I was a child. You saw the chaos around me— a mother lost to her pain, a father too far to notice, and you moved in like a saviour, when really, you were the storm. You built a world where “special” meant silence. Where comfort meant obedience. Where your sickness became my shame. You groomed. You violated. You stole the language of care and twisted it into fear. You watched a little girl disappear into the corners of herself, and you smiled, because power looked good on you. But listen closely— I’m not that little girl anymore. You don’t own my body. You don’t own my story. You don’t own the air I breathe when I speak your name without breaking. You called it love. But I call it what it was— abuse. violation. theft. And still— I rise. I rise from the silence you left behind. I rise from the ashes of the child you tried to bury. I rise— because power belongs to me now.
0
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
You called it love
You called it love. But love doesn’t feel like chains. Love doesn’t crawl into the cracks of a child’s mind and whisper, stay quiet. Your love was manipulation. Your touch—control. Your voice, a weapon dressed in kindness. And I... I was a child. You saw the chaos around me— a mother lost to her pain, a father too far to notice, and you moved in like a saviour, when really, you were the storm. You built a world where “special” meant silence. Where comfort meant obedience. Where your sickness became my shame. You groomed. You violated. You stole the language of care and twisted it into fear. You watched a little girl disappear into the corners of herself, and you smiled, because power looked good on you. But listen closely— I’m not that little girl anymore. You don’t own my body. You don’t own my story. You don’t own the air I breathe when I speak your name without breaking. You called it love. But I call it what it was— abuse. violation. theft. And still— I rise. I rise from the silence you left behind. I rise from the ashes of the child you tried to bury. I rise— because power belongs to me now.
Written by
St.helens
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
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