Every person has a story to be told.
Mine begins when I was sixteen years old.
I wanted a fairytale love, a happy ever after.
All I got was torture, misfortune and disaster.
I tried my best to keep him happy.
But my efforts were pointless and always ended badly.
I would never know when it would come.
There was no way to prepeare for what was being done.
Day after day I would hide every mark and bruise.
No matter what I did, the abuse would continue.
One day I picked myself up said enough is enough.
I was finding my way out though I knew it would be tough.
At the time, I did not understand.
But it would shape me into who I am.
I am strong because I refuse to give in.
I am a survivor because I refused to let him win.
I am a conquerer because I overcame my demons.
I am valuable because my life has reason.
I am beautiful because of my imperfections.
I am focused because I once lost direction.
Now looking back on it all.
I never knew I would stand so tall.
Every scar caused by his evil hand.
Has done nothing but make me, who I am.