I have a story for you:
cry, cry, cry.
Listen. Listen for ONCE.
No?
You don't want to listen,
don't want to hear the words
dribble out, blood-soaked tears
for us all? I'll lay out
each bone of that skeleton,
every fragment, every dirty shred
of laundry, every scream I hold back.
You need to listen;
I need to be listened to.
Because there was a girl
and she was innocent, unbroken
but then you came along,
smashing everything I had
until it was whittled down to a shard
and you didn't listen
when I told you, begged you to STOP
again and again and again.
You didn't listen
so listen now. Listen
to how you broke me,
how I had to arrange all the pieces
back together
but there's still the glue between the pieces
that everyone can see,
something about me that isn't quite right
but I make the best of it
even if it's second rate, not as good as before,
it's better than just scattered pieces waiting to be vacuumed.
But you like that, don't you?
You don't feel a thing
as you listen but
don't really listen
but still, it doesn't change the fact
that I have a story for you.