blame.

 

he touches my back

whispers in my ear

touches my thigh,

says since we’re family,

he can do whatever he wants

when I asked him to stop

 

told I wasn’t skinny enough,

told I was psycho,

told I was a mute,

catcalled and made fun of

never was the pretty girl

never was the untouchable girl

 

shunned

the clique doesn’t accept

a new presence,

even if it’s been there for ages

they told me to go away,

laughed in my face.

 

afraid to leave the house;

afraid to be alone

he’s everywhere, he’s watching

he knows everything

he could ruin me in a moment

I close the blinds tighter

 

and, everyone asks me

why I don’t like to be touched

why I hate superficial girls and guys

and I just shrug

they tell me to not be so guarded;

and I just nod, not really listening

 

 

so, I hold a razor in the shower

and I think of about dying

I think of him, him, and him;

of her, her, and her

and I could blame all of them

but, I’m to blame, aren’t I?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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4 thoughts on “blame.

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