It’s strange, how this all started, because…
I don’t remember telling you: you can touch me.
I don’t remember telling you: you can hug me.
I don’t remember telling you: you can kiss me.
I don’t remember telling you: you can f*** me.
to this day...
I’m scared ~ a sin committed by your crazed slaps
I’m trapped ~ a sin committed by your clamped fingers
I’m bruised~ a sin committed by your clenched fists but most of all...
I’m broken ~ a sin committed by your careless body
your teeth, your nails--knives were tearing into an already bruised body,
said you had a rough day, said you still loved me, but all you did was hurt me.
every device of torture seized in your fists, to this day hisses against my skin,
scarring this body without gaps for it to heal--the pain is making me spin.
you used me, when you were incomplete, without purpose.
you became a monster, devoid of soul, everything but earnest.
told me I was made just for you, that I was yours and only yours.
you were bored, I was broken, and from that day I became your cure.
confusion starts to turn into contusions,
right and wrong blur into useless delusions,
here’s my decision: this is the conclusion,
I’m sick and tired of these material illusions.
it’s been year after year, I don’t have the strength to care, nor fight,
every birthday I kept wishing to vanish forever into the night.
but I kept going, believed I had to save myself--be my own knight.
it seems pathetic to you, I just had some fun, but it’s everything but trite.
I’ve never even have the freedom to cry or scream in this body,
it’s to the point where my mind is too tired to fight--disembodied.
I’m not gonna sit here calling out for help--for the perfect somebody,
or change myself everyday to be what you need--a little bit of everybody.
I’m getting restless, all these bleeding bruises you carelessly cast on me,
they’re reminders of cruel crimes--and you’re gonna start paying the fee,
because every drop of blood you’ve spilt, they’re all memories,
of brutal beatings I’ve endured--you’ve turned us into enemies.
I understand wanting a gun.
I understand wanting a knife.
I understand wanting to run.
I understand wanting to ignite.
I understand wanting to crawl out of this hole, wanting to fight this cold,
cold, cold winter till my lips pale--lifeless, and till my bones grow old.
I’m so sick and tired of a life without freedom, I wanna break this mold,
of repetition, a torturous cycle with the pain growing each time, tenfold. So I will.
You push me down, I fall, but don’t we all?
I don’t need you, I’m strong enough to again and again rise
… because I now realize:
You made me a survivor.