We live in a world where no means convince me and flirting is a green light for ***.
Where women are told, don't get ***** and men are rarely told, don't ****.
Where **** shaming is encouraged and victims are blamed.
Where speaking out about **** is a call for attention and **** victims are silenced.
We live in a world where **** culture is normal and that is **unacceptable.

Times like this
is when I question if
you would have been there,
if you would have held me,
rocked me and dried my tears.
I search for tough
with a gentle soul,
but I get nothing to what I
need or want.
Does this make me selfish?
Being the person who tries
so hard and never gives up?
Years later and I can't help
but to wonder with tears I refuse
to spill,
would you have given up on me?
Would you have thought
that I was enough?
With my head a mess,
soul a thousand years old,
body a complete wreck.
Would you have already left?

There's so much I feel but never actually say,
it paints an image too real, one I don't wish to give away.
Now it's raining, there's no sustaining,
I'm cold and soaking wet,
and all's waning, the thread's straining,
you know how worn-in sweaters get.