when I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
years later, she emotionally neglects me and tells me to stop being so emotional
because I am her punching bag.
when I was eight,
my aunt told me she would always be there.
years later, she hung herself in her living room
breaking her promise.
when I was eleven,
I was told to be social, that everybody is a friend.
years later, I was raped.
When I was sixteen,
this guy said I was beautiful.
weeks later, he trashed me, tormented me
because I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.
So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn't want to wind up later on,
learning it the hard way, once again,
that people often don't mean what they say.