Some nights I go down memory lane
Where I don't like to be,
I go there because flashbacks come back,
To the point where I'm in tears
I don't like to cry,
But I can't help it.
When I do end up crying,
It's too late.

On a cold January day,
I was abused
Bad
In school,
In the bathroom,
In the handicap stall,
I was left there to cry,

When I told the police,
It was too late,
Way too late.
They couldn't do anything because it was way too late.

Since then,
The last 2 years,
I've been bullied,
Harassed,
Physically and online

Not to the point where I wanted to do self-harm
But I've thought about it,
Several times.