If there's no bruise, it's not abuse, they say. But how many scars on my thighs are because of you? Because we get along sometimes, it can't be abuse. But tell me, does that excuse the fear of a sudden change of voice? I almost hurt you back and it's suddenly my fault but does that mean you never said those things. I know you don't define me, but it's hard not to let what you say go to heart. I am not worthless. I am not ugly. I am not the slurs you call me of the stinging pain on my cheek. I am myself.