I live at school.
Not because I love it,
but because home is a war I got tired of losing.

Boarding school was supposed to be an escape.
But turns out, monsters don’t need addresses
they travel in texts, in voicemails
in the mouth of teachers
who were supposed to be grown ups,
but act like mean girls in blazers.

My stepmother doesn’t have to be near me
to make my skin crawl.
Her words arrive on screens.
Her voice leaks through the phone.
“You’re a disappointment.”
“An embarrassment.”
“She thinks she’s better than everyone else.”

She weaponizes my silence.
Twists my distance into guilt.
And the teachers?
They carry her messages like loyal dogs.
Repeat her insults with that tight-lipped smile
like they’re reading bible verses
instead of abuse.

And when I crack—
when the rage explodes out of my chest
because no one listens until I yell—
I’m the problem.
“She’s aggressive.”
“She has anger issues.”
“Unstable.”

But tell me—
what do you become
when you’re poked, poked, poked
every single day
by girls who think pain is a game
and teachers stand by
like broken statues?

What do you become
when every voice you hear
is one telling you you’re too loud,
too bold,
too much—
when all you’ve ever been
is trying to survive
a world that chews you up for breathing wrong?

I never wanted to be the girl who fights.
But kindness never stopped the bleeding.
And fists speak louder in a world
that turns its back when you whisper “help.”

All I want is peace.
Not your false calm—
not the silence that chokes me.
I mean peace where I can exist,
unafraid of my own name
coming out of someone else’s mouth.

I want to walk through these halls
and not flinch at the sound of my phone.
I want teachers to teach,
not take sides in wars I never started.

I want to feel safe
somewhere.
Anywhere.
I’m tired of being told I’m too much
by people who give too little.
I’ve bled in places you’ll never see
and still managed to be kind.
Do you know how strong that makes me?

So if you’re reading this,
and you’ve ever made someone feel small
just because you could—
congratulations.
But I’m still here.
And your hate?
It ends with me.

Because I will fight,
if I have to.
But all I ever wanted
was to be left
the hell
alone.

No it actually doesn’t get better
I really used to think it did
But my days now are darker than they were 10 years ago
When I tried to end my life
Once
Twice
Three times
And I still think about it
Just now I feel more selfish
Yeah I am loved
Good god I am so ******* loved
That’s why I can’t
But if I were to tell you that ******* about every day “being a blessing!!”
I’d be lying through my teeth
I hate it here
I hate me here
I hate here
I have everything that could make me happy
And I’m not
So no it actually doesn’t get better
And I still think about it
Just now I’m too tired.

I could thank you for raising me,
For making me who I was meant to be,
But you hated that task.
It showed in your actions, your face—I didn’t have to ask.
Yet you did make me who I am today.
I will never know trust or love in a fatherly way.
Abandoned by my own, scorned by you,
You held my mother’s hands steady as she stabbed me through.
You are the wound I was never meant to have.

She’s carried me for far too long. My weight lingers on her shoulders; my barbs leave welts on her back. I lower my head behind hers to give her a moment with her reflection. I keep her awake some nights; her silent tears are a private performance. I’d have moved on long ago, but she can’t let me go. She keeps me close, next to her fear of the unknown. We create shadows on her walls each night when we dance. She’s sewn me into her skin; she can’t wash me away.
But one day, her threads will break.
From her, I’ll separate, and she will be free. And I will move on to the next, hoping I never see her again.

You broke my heart with no consequences
where are the cops?
You belong in jail ,
Heartbreak like this should be criminal ,