Now she's the girl he told everyone about,
bragging, changing, manipulating the reality of what really happened.
She got stripped of her clothes, stripped of her trust, stripped of her youth.
But to him, she was just a check off of his list.
She had sleepless nights, while he had rest.
She had tears in her eyes while he ran around as happy as could be.
He ruined her, but he didn't care.
She knew she had to face it, but repressing feelings was easier.
She knew she had to forgive him and move on,
but how could she forgive him?
She tired to figure it out, tired to find a reason why he would do this to her, but she couldn't
She couldn't erase the night.
She could wipe of the dirt but the bruises remained.
The sratches on her skin would heal but the guilt, shame, unworthiness stayed.
Danger was everywhere.
Hands felt the same, voices sounded similar, the demons always lingered.
How could she feel safe when every man who touches her reminded her of him?
It followed her everywhere.
It wasn't human, but appeared to be so.
It didn't talk, but lurk.
It didn't love, but hate.
It didn't heal, but destroy.
It was a shadow, so dark and so cold.
Healing didn't happen overnight.
There was months of sorrow,
months of hate,
months upon months of darkness.
She woke up one day
and realized it was her time.
Her time to heal, her time to grow.
She looked at the world in a whole new light.
It wasn't dark,
it was dim.
Darkness is always there, but there was hope.
She woke up that day new.
She wasn't a young girl,
she was a women.
With more passion in her fingertips than people had throughout their whole body.
Though her mind was damaged,
her soul was kind.
She had drive and ambition to take her pain and to turn it into beauty.
To take her darkness and turn it into light.
She was reborn.
She surrounded herself with positive people,
met the most loving and caring souls on this earth.
She was happy, she was free.
Though she still remember the night, but found forgiveness in herself.
Not for him, but for her.
She forgave herself for thinking it was her fault.
That maybe if she didn't wear shorts that night it wouldn't of happened.
She forgave herself for hating every inch of her skin that he touched.
She forgave herself for the exhaustion she had from all the restless nights.
Because none of this mess was because of clothes or action.
It was a shadow,
but she was the sun.
More powerful that ever before with a fire in her soul,
burning with fight.
With the flames, the love, the faith in this universe,
she ran, and ran and ran.
She had left the shadow.