Why?

Maybe it was the moves
maybe it was stress
maybe it was too much

maybe it was my first friend's death
maybe it was the bullying
maybe it was never talking

maybe it was being spit on
being isolated
knowing I am not the person people like 
ever. 

I don't think so. 

maybe it was taking care of my siblings
maybe it was giving it my all
maybe it was growing up at 13 

maybe it was my parents suicidal-ness
maybe it was my mother's highs and lows
maybe it was my sisters tears: helpless pain

maybe it was my first kiss in a parking lot 
unwanted 
trying to dodge and push 
away. 

I don't think that was it either. 

maybe it was when dad lost his job. Twice. 
maybe it was when everyone wanted to be me
maybe it was my first lousy boyfriend 

maybe it was the running
maybe it was the anorexia 
maybe it was the silent suffering 

maybe it was the not sleeping 
always trying 
so hard 
to be better. 

that wasn't it. 

maybe it was the screaming
maybe it was the always apologizing for existing
maybe it was never crying

maybe it was the boy that lied
maybe it was being used
maybe it was leaving home 
trying to escape

maybe it was the one 
I finally loved and he
said he loved me too 

maybe it was that. 

the heartbreak 
when I had to leave 
the only one who knew all of this 
and could still love me 
despite it all.

maybe it was because 
I couldn't stop crying
the dam in my heart broke 
with it and tears gushed out

maybe it was because I hope
that despite the badness
good still exists
Naive, trusting, innocent 
in some ways. 

But he said it was because I wore a dress
he couldn't help himself
I looked nice 
when I asked him to talk to me 
I just needed to talk 
So I could stop crying 
It was his job
The dress my little sister gave me
for my birthday

That's why he did it, he said. 
That was it.
The tipping point. 

And while I am trying not to break
to be strong 
to forgive myself for being myself
because the last bit of good I had 
was used against me 

Like a flower in the wind 
an ignorant child 
snapped my stem
plucked my petals 
and tossed me to the dirt

unaware of my roots 
that grew around the rocks 
the leaves that pushed through 
the unforgiving ground 
that tried despite the hardship 

uncaring that flower 
was not there's for the picking 
no higher power gave them the right 
that flower was my last hope 
to finally bask in the sunlight
the last chance to have something good 

and it was taken unwillingly 
because I had no defense 
no one to protect me 
because I looked too pretty. 

That's why.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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