when we were thirteen
i thought being best friends meant
you stay.
even when your body said don’t.
even when your stomach twisted
and something felt wrong
in a way you couldn’t name yet
you stay.
because leaving
makes you dramatic.
annoying.
too much.
so i stayed.
we weren’t just friends.
we were everything.
sleepovers every other weekend,
lying to our parents
because it had always been normmal.
we weren't bad kids,
just wanted to live free.
it was us.
always just us.
and i didn’t know.
how was i supposed to know?
you crossed lines
like they didn’t exist
not all at once.
never enough to prove.
just small things.
small enough
that i blamed myself instead.
i didn’t have words.
i didn’t even know
i was allowed
to need them.
you pushed
and when i said stop,
it meant nothing.
it never meant anything.
and i let it happen
not because i wanted to,
but because i thought
being good
meant not making it a problem.
good friend.
easy.
quiet.
because bad things
aren’t supposed to happen
with your best friend.
they come from strangers.
from adults.
from stories on the news.
not you.
not the girl
who sat next to me
my whole life.
not the house
that felt like mine.
pt 2
so i stayed
when everything in me
wanted to leave.
and by the time i understood,
it was already done.
now i’m sixteen.
three years later
and i’m still there.
sitting across from my mom
while she defends you
like i’m not even in the room.
“she was a victim too.”
i know.
but why does that
make me disappear?
“you should’ve come home!”
"You were just down the street."
“you should’ve made an excuse.”
i didn’t know
i needed one.
“i taught you better.”
better than
trusting my own best friend?
better than freezing
when something felt wrong?
something I couldn’t even explain,
not having the words to yet
every time she says something,
i get smaller.
like this is all my fault.
like i didn’t say no right, too lazily
as if i didn’t leave fast enough.
like i failed
at stopping something
i didn’t even know what was
sometimes i almost believe it.
sometimes i think
maybe it wasn’t that bad.
i could of fought her more
woke her dad
even if i did, i know you'd be mad
no matter what happens
you wouldn't care
but it was wrong
i just need someone
to say it.
to say
it was wrong.
that it mattered.
that what you did to me
actually counts.
somebody to sit me down
tell me they care
instead of defending you
over and over
like i’m the one
who has to explain myself.
she was a victim too
but i was hers
i was a kid, one that still is
so why am i the only one
being questioned?
i’m your kid.
and somehow
it's easier for you
to care about the Lune y toon
than your own child
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 7:29 AM UTC
when we were thirteen
i thought being best friends meant
you stay.
even when your body said don’t.
even when your stomach twisted
and something felt wrong
in a way you couldn’t name yet
you stay.
because leaving
makes you dramatic.
annoying.
too much.
so i stayed.
we weren’t just friends.
we were everything.
sleepovers every other weekend,
lying to our parents
because it had always been normmal.
we weren't bad kids,
just wanted to live free.
it was us.
always just us.
and i didn’t know.
how was i supposed to know?
you crossed lines
like they didn’t exist
not all at once.
never enough to prove.
just small things.
small enough
that i blamed myself instead.
i didn’t have words.
i didn’t even know
i was allowed
to need them.
you pushed
and when i said stop,
it meant nothing.
it never meant anything.
and i let it happen
not because i wanted to,
but because i thought
being good
meant not making it a problem.
good friend.
easy.
quiet.
because bad things
aren’t supposed to happen
with your best friend.
they come from strangers.
from adults.
from stories on the news.
not you.
not the girl
who sat next to me
my whole life.
not the house
that felt like mine.
pt 2
so i stayed
when everything in me
wanted to leave.
and by the time i understood,
it was already done.
now i’m sixteen.
three years later
and i’m still there.
sitting across from my mom
while she defends you
like i’m not even in the room.
“she was a victim too.”
i know.
but why does that
make me disappear?
“you should’ve come home!”
"You were just down the street."
“you should’ve made an excuse.”
i didn’t know
i needed one.
“i taught you better.”
better than
trusting my own best friend?
better than freezing
when something felt wrong?
something I couldn’t even explain,
not having the words to yet
every time she says something,
i get smaller.
like this is all my fault.
like i didn’t say no right, too lazily
as if i didn’t leave fast enough.
like i failed
at stopping something
i didn’t even know what was
sometimes i almost believe it.
sometimes i think
maybe it wasn’t that bad.
i could of fought her more
woke her dad
even if i did, i know you'd be mad
no matter what happens
you wouldn't care
but it was wrong
i just need someone
to say it.
to say
it was wrong.
that it mattered.
that what you did to me
actually counts.
somebody to sit me down
tell me they care
instead of defending you
over and over
like i’m the one
who has to explain myself.
she was a victim too
but i was hers
i was a kid, one that still is
so why am i the only one
being questioned?
i’m your kid.
and somehow
it's easier for you
to care about the Lune y toon
than your own child
I didn't mean to post this earlier, that was my draft... oops