Beautiful Monster

March 25, 2011
By Anonymous

It was seventh grade summer
when I met this beautiful
bright blue-eyed
shaggy blonde haired boy.

This guy was what every parent warns their delicate daughters about.
He was a little cocky,
caught up in life’s mysteries.
I was an innocent girl with a strong heart,
begging for my first real kiss.

I had been sheltered my whole life
but once our eyes met at the sun dial,
my heart melted with warm delight.

This was the one.
This was the one who was my first real kiss.
This was the one who made reality better than my dreams.
This was the one who transformed an innocent and graceful girl
into a hurt and terrified nothing.

“I’ll be with you forever, you’re the only girl for me”
The words of a lying,
absolutely sick monster.

I was nothing more than property to this boy.
If he didn’t get what he wanted…
right across the face.
“Walk home you ugly piece of crap.”
Fifteen miles of bare, blistered feet walking from the streets of Oshkosh
to the outskirts of the city.

My heart…who am I kidding?
He had my heart and was in control of it like the strings of a puppet.
Every move I made,
controlled by my master.
But I had hope for myself,
so I took my scissors and cut those strings.

Things changed.
He changed.
Only to suck up and lure me in for yet another torturous journey.
But once he didn’t get what he wanted,
next thing I knew I was tumbling down thick concrete stairs.

Hospitalized for a week.
No calls.
No visits.
From the beautiful blue-eyed monster
I had called my boyfriend.

Still seeing his bright blue eyes at school once in a while,
Our eyes meet.
Except now, mine are bitter cold and filled with hatred.
And his are of a free man,
never being charged.

This was the one,
who changed my life forever.

The author's comments:
I was inspored to write this piece because i had a very abusive ex-boyfriend and i had a lot of bottled up emotions that came along with it. I got my help, but not im letting it out on paper which i personally think is even better than sharing out loud.

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