She was the child who shyed away from touch.

The child who hated eye contact.

She was a kid who'd perfected the art of

  making excuses for school absences 

  and dodging questions.

By the age of nine, she knew if

  the counselor was suspecting the sexual abuse

  or when a teacher got too concerned about something.

She feels bad because she knows they tried-

  she was just too scared to talk.

So much abuse, pain, neglect to cover up

when she was so little.

Her heart breaks for a younger self.

Seeing the concern on instructor's faces

  meant nightmares about CYS visits.

 

Even when certain events transpired,

requiring her to speak about The Bad.

She new how much to talk about.

A hospital visit once drew in a social worker

  who asked about rape.

Her heart moniter went crazy

  but she said nothing,

  and she was believed.

She bit her tongue when it was obvious that

  she was lying.

Adults looked at her with sad eyes,

  killing her every time.

People would say things like:

  "Please tell me what's wrong."

  "Are you okay?"

  "You know you can talk to me."

But they could never understand.

How could she turn in her mother?

  Her family members?

  Her family friends?

Disclosing was never an option.

She knows nobody can ever get it.

Unloved children have to learn to surive.