I cared to be loved,
Loved the adoring.
He swore that he did.
Oh, the great deceiving!
Was it him or me— who's at fault?
For I felt nothing, not for him, not at all.
If I were him, I too would resent me.
Then why do I not feel guilty?
He was the first to kill me with his—
Words or gaze; his entire existence
Drove me mad. There was no escaping.
If hell was earth, I was in it,
Burned holes into my body every time his two eyes found me, the lovely gazing.
I still bear the scars of thirteen.