Drip drop, tears fall, drowning my fairy wings.

Holding my knees and begging in my mind, please Peter, please stop.

But he doesn’t hear me…

I’m screaming, but he doesn’t hear me and people don’t see it.

Don’t see what he does to me…

People say “She’s Tink, they’re best pals”

But why can’t they see the bruises on my thighs?

The red, swollen texture to my cheeks?

The exhaustion in my eyes from lack of sleep?

The fear of when he will come back into my tree and touch me again?

Drip drop, tears fall, drowning my fairy wings.

Put on a smile and hold my head high

I am Tink and he needs me to fly.

And fly he shall, too high for me to bring him down.

Lack of oxygen and down he comes, but I'm not catching him.

"Poor Peter" people weep

Drip drop, tears fall, runnning down their cheeks, while I'm in the background where no one can see.

Revenge has never felt so sweet.