when you're a victim
it feels like
everyone is against you.
     the questions
        the assumptions
           the chatter
             the looks
                the hate

                                                -is it even worth it?

I wish someone told me,

Love is not putting your  pleasure before my  protection
Love is not believing my body is your toy
Love is not being forced into anything I don't want to do

Because I lifted my shirt in an attempt to heal your broken mind
I silenced myself, my voice, my protests for your apology

Yet You held the gun to your  head
Made me believe I was the one
who made you feel as though you were better off dead

I'm still scared to look at my phone at night
Because of the chance the ringing is another suicide call

“Why did you break up with me,
You said you loved me,
If you hang up ill **** myself”

You were a disease
plagued by your own mind and  fixation
Tell my why did I have to be your victim!?

We are always the victim of our own story
We fashion wings of innocence for ourselves
accessorized by a halo of compassion and charity
Then we paint a mask on others
using colors such as greed and hatefulness
to show how truly evil they were
never wanting to admit our own fault
for fear of realizing our lingering evil inside

Here on the west side
Crime does pay
And doing no crime
Still pays crime

Here on thr west side
We live by one rule
Grind
Not survive
Because we are modern America

Here on the west side
People appreciate free
And will abuse you for it


Here in the west side
Sympathy is a victim tactic
No longer used for genuine purposes
Except for genuinely getting ahead

Here on the west side
We die by one rule
But that rule doesn't exist
Because everyone dies

Here on the west side

When I see you my chest tightens
Suffocating under your stare
I can feel your hand around my throat
Pinning my body to the bed
Choking, gasping, crying

When I see you my skin crawls
I can feel your body
Forcing its way inside mine
Using me as an object
Made for your pleasure

When I hear you speak I taste blood
Biting my tongue
To keep your secret
I can hear every threat
You used to keep me quiet

Sitting at the bottom
Of the sun-kissing tower
Rapunzel,
I hear you crying for help
Could I make a suggestion?
     Stop cutting your hair
          And blaming the scissors
               Instead of your own hand.