Nov 2014
****** abuse in itself is not the worst crime. No. The aftermath is. The invisible **** that happens over and over again every time you close your eyes. That shiver that runs down your spine whenever someone places a hand on your shoulder or jumps out and shouts "boo" at you. They way you hold your keys between your knuckles every time you have to walk alone at night. The way your heart races when you are home alone and hear a noise in the house. No the actually act alone isn't the worst. The worst is feeling unsafe in every aspect of everything you will ever do. The worst is smelling his cologne everywhere you go. Sensing his presence when you know you are alone. The worst is breathing everyday. Just breathing when all you want to do is stop.
The worse is how your body decays in every spot that he touched even years after. I am rotting from the inside out. He injected dirt into my veins like a drug.
The worst is scrubbing until your skin is raw, until the water runs cold, yet still being consumed in filth. The worst is how one act, done by one person, over a length of time can so alter everything about you. Like my DNA has been rewritten. The worst thing is how it replays in your mind like a broken record that continues to skip.
Or how small it makes you feel, so powerless. Such a greatness of nothing.and how that nothing consumes you. Then you wonder how being nothing can be so vast. How feeling like nothing can become something that lasts forever.
The worst is trying to believe that your body is anything more then a wasteland when you know that that's all it ever is, and was, and ever will be. Daring to think that maybe you are beautiful and deserving of more and having the mirror tell you that that is a lie.
No ****** abuse in itself is not the worst crime. The worst is how that one act wipes away everything that you are like an eraser on a chalk board and now all you are is the things that have happened. Now I am pain. I am hurt. I am the cuts on my skin.
The worst is feeling like you are lying every time you say that you are more then what he made you.
The worse is how your body decays in every spot that he touched even years after. I am rotting from the inside out. He injected dirt into my veins like a drug.
The worst is scrubbing until your skin is raw, until the water runs cold, yet still being consumed in filth. The worst is how one act, done by one person, over a length of time can so alter everything about you. Like my DNA has been rewritten. The worst thing is how it replays in your mind like a broken record that continues to skip.
Or how small it makes you feel, so powerless. Such a greatness of nothing.and how that nothing consumes you. Then you wonder how being nothing can be so vast. How feeling like nothing can become something that lasts forever.
The worst is trying to believe that your body is anything more then a wasteland when you know that that's all it ever is, and was, and ever will be. Daring to think that maybe you are beautiful and deserving of more and having the mirror tell you that that is a lie.
No ****** abuse in itself is not the worst crime. The worst is how that one act wipes away everything that you are like an eraser on a chalk board and now all you are is the things that have happened. Now I am pain. I am hurt. I am the cuts on my skin.
The worst is feeling like you are lying every time you say that you are more then what he made you.
