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.