How many cuts and bruises authority figures can ignore

For the sake of pretending so it's not on their shoulders;

Denying a problem that's clearly there with phrases to cover, such as:

Toughen up, don't tattle.

But would I tell if they were as hamless as you say?

Gangs of girls pointing out every flaw, every insecurity I never knew I had

My own sister screaming how no one needs me, that I can't be loved

Boys tripping the freak and kicking me, with the only people who dare tell them to stop speaking in bored tones

An unwanted hand scrolling under my clothes

Indifferece I could tolerate, but these fingertips I can't scrub away.

These words I can't scratch from my brain.

And they write it off as kids being kids.

Tell what innocent child's play is this?

In which my bruises and mental scaring keep me company until I sleep

And even then, safety is never quite guaranteed, when at the mercy of dreams.

What they don't know, they'll never care to hear.

As I engage in polite suicide

Pushing this way and that way the mush on my plate

Shutting my mouth to fuel in exchange for the comfort of short lived satisfaction

Knowing I won't have to wait too much longer for my escape

Controlling the one thing they never could take.