When I was a kid my mind didn't know

what to think of all the things happening to me,

and I kept quiet because,

who would believe me?

 

Who would believe that I didn’t think of myself 

as a person, but as an object,

because how could a little girl

be so affected that she should think that?

You told me my eyes were

the prettiest things you had ever seen.

 

I thought I was in a dream

because I wasn’t in control,

but that’s not what it was because

the pounding in my chest and the screaming in my head,

 

Was telling me to run,

telling me to hide,

but when I woke up in the morning

you were still there. 

 

Cold nights, long fights,

tired eyes and endless cries.

I think about you all the time

and about the way

your hand rose,

like a snake standing to strike.

 

Your delicate arms,

once a safe haven,

became weapons you 

could use against me, 

 

Your words a machine gun, 

your vice like grip was the bomb, 

and my tears 

were the aftermath left behind.

 

My dreams turned to nightmares 

as you ran through them every night, 

taking every last happy thought out of 

my head until there was nothing left.

 

My skin turned to paper 

as it was ripped open until 

there was nothing more of me to ruin. 

My life was a mess and what did you say?

 

Nothing.

 

I was easy to take advantage of and you were satisfied.

I was pinned up against a wall and you were satisfied. 

Your cold touch sent nervous shivers down my spine, 

I was exposed and you were satisfied.

 

You were satisfied, and I was broken.