I deserved it,

I was in more control than I’d like to admit

I told people it was okay,

that I wanted it.

But why does it feel like he took something?

Why does it hurt me to think about?

I couldn’t give him anything worth while,

so in order for me to be loved I needed to give him this part of me

I told myself it was no big deal,

I convinced myself of that.

When we went up the hill I got sick

I wanted to turn and run.

But it was too late

I thought words would do me good.

All the no’s in the world could not get through,

So I just accepted my fate.

I was too young to realize the wound I had.

I was good at pretending and lying

Told other’s I was happy.

Told myself I was happy.

Sometimes I let the hurt through,

And wonder why I subjected myself to this.

I blame myself,

then I’m angry for blaming myself

I reached out but was just met with conflictions.

No one wants to understand the scars I’m left with.

No one wants to accept how they got there.

So I must be mistaken then,

Because how could people not see the scars if they were really there?