#METOO

Dear Attacker,

I’m going to say this in the easiest way for your mundane mind to understand

First, you hurt me. No, I’m sorry that’s an understatement.

You took a knife to my chest and sliced open my lungs

Watched as the blood poured over my ribs and said… you loved me.

When I stitched myself together enough to forgive you, you did it again,

But this time my legs were so black and blue because the thought of me leaving you caused “panic attacks.”

The third time after my vocal cords went mute, you said, “this hurt me more than it hurt you”

Well maybe it did

But I’m done invalidating the scars that turn red every time I hear your name because I am also in pain,

 And honestly I don’t give a crap about how many scars you have to your name

Because I don’t know my own.

If it were to be said in a crowd, I’d probably ignore the sound because that’s not what you called me.

To you, I was everything but broken,

 And for that I actually pat myself on the back because it wasn’t easy.

I let you mold me into the “perfect person”

Who could kiss your scars away,

Wipe your tears with my smile,

 And brighten your day with my voice,

But you failed to give met the choice to be anything else.

So, right now I am saying, “NO”

Just in case you didn’t hear me … “NO”

You no longer get this smile or this laugh because you abused what you had and left a walking corpse behind that people call “Jazz”

Who is Jazz?

I haven’t seen her in months,

And if she were to come back

Would she even look the same?

Would her hair still be curly?

Would she smile through the pain? … like she did with you.

I hope not because she had feelings,

And I think if she were to come back today,

People would pause.

Stare for a second.

Then ask for her name,

And when she would say “Jazz”

Their eyes would go wide because the new girl has a little fire inside

That could burn down bridges

And turn your pedestal to ash,

And the slightest look will have you come crawling back

But she doesn’t want you anymore.