I have spent a long time under the thumbs of people who don’t even like me. I have spent time being told I’m fat and ugly. I have been told how awful I am. My family crushing me under the weight of my own skin. My own walls making the atmosphere thin. I haven’t spent a day in my own skin when I have called myself beautiful.
No one supported me when I was weak and frail. I fed myself and clothed myself. I got up in time. I did my home work and chores. I knew what would happen. Hands, fists, wooden spoons, plates; all connecting with my skin. At the end of the day I cover my bruises. My pain. No one sees me.
I thought a boy liked when I was 14. I was wrong. Just like my mother had treated me. Chains around my neck. Yanking me. Hands on my thighs. I couldn’t stop him with my eyes. So I scream. But the scream is empty air. Nothing is there. No one is there. In a closet I sit.
My my mind is liquid alcohol. Washing back and forth. I needed someone. I became that person. Don’t touch me I am my own woman. I stand tall. I keep myself happy. Don’t come near me. I am me. I have walls. Yet again. They reach for me. Covering me. I can’t let them close me in.
watching mother fight father. Not my real father. Get out! Life is not this. Life is not drugs. Life is not rape.
Love and passion in your voice. You pull me from my dreams. Tenderly kiss my forhead. You say you love me.