The way it felt when I

Was six years old and

For the first time

Someone told me I was worthless.

It came as a shock,

And with a pain that stung

For much longer and much,

Much deeper than the pain of

Falling and scraping my knees

On the heartless, inflexible concrete.

The difference between then and now

Is that today I understand

That he was correct.

I am the end product of

Love

          Loss

                   Fear

                             Pain

                   Abuse

          Neglect

Bruises

And all the ugly words

That the ink of my pen

Cannot bear to stain this page with.

There are things

That people don’t talk about,

But that still burn the way

My hand did after

My grandfather told me

To touch the lighter.

The fingers of a child reached out

And let the flames lick her skin.

I have spent my whole life

Dancing through fire,

Constantly getting burned

With glass digging into my feet.

I am the aftermath of

Two lives, bent and twisted,

Damaged beyond repair,

Who created me, a lost cause,

A worthless waste of space.