when I was younger I was told to keep quiet. 

don’t tell them, he said. 

they’ll get mad at me, he said

they won’t believe you, he said. 

I never understood what that meant,

but I never wanted to be considered a liar so I kept my walls up and stayed silent.

But I was slowing becoming just that… a liar.

I learned how to write down the things I felt and thought.

tucked them away deep in the dark.

I knew if I showed someone they’d call me a liar so I continued to lie

and lie and lie about the truth.

as I grew up I continued to write

and they are all tied back to that night.

tied to that room.

tied back to when I was in the fourth grade

a guy telling me to blow him and if I didn’t he’d tell the school I did anyway.

I got a little older… but not by much.

they made jokes about my body and how they wished they could see more of it.

they thought of me as nothing more than a little toy.

something he could play with.

13 is old enough, he said

who cares if it’s 3 and half year age gap, he said 

consent is something he never asked.

I understood what that meant,

but I never wanted to be considered a liar so I kept my wall up and stayed silent.

slowing becoming just that.. a liar.

I’ve never had a relationship like normal teenagers

because I’m scared by touch.

I’ve never had a healthy mind

because every good thing has been tarnished by evil.

I’ve never been secure with myself

because how can you when everyone else treats you like an insignificant nothing?

when I was younger I was taught to keep quiet

but I learned to write it down. 

I was taught that sympathy isn’t your friend. 

But a pen and paper certainly are.