You were immaculate; the dreamers dream, but you taught me that trust isn’t one sided. You showed me that pain can stem from love. You loved me like a murderer loves his victim and you killed me the same way. You treated me like less than what I am and I forgot I was still human. The scars you left won’t fade; your hands left bruises on my body. The thing about ‘love’ is it can cure any ailment, but get it wrong, and it can just as easily **** you. I got it wrong… we got it wrong. My stomach shouldn’t churn at the pressure of your touch. I shouldn’t crave to be alone. You made every man look like hell, you made every touch sickening to endure. How do you live knowing you stopped me from doing the same?

But, as it turns out, damaged people are dangerous, and there are so many of us. We will build an army not to defend ourselves from your attacks, but to show you that we can’t be attacked again. Women were born to defy the society that clenches them in its fist until they are no longer people, but objects with which men can do as they please. Little girls shouldn’t be told to “be careful”, little boys should be taught that everyone is a sacred masterpiece which should never be spoiled. What type of world is it that we live in when what you wear determines what you want?

So, to anyone who has been hurt: you are not broken, you are healing. You are not worthless; you are worth so much more than whoever wounded you. The cracks in your heart can heal, but the scars will stay… mine have, but instead of reminders of my pain, I choose to wear them as war paint with which to make me strong.