I look normal, I believe,
Hungry eyes of a frightened girl stealing moments of weakness in the dark by herself in the night.
I believe they don't see it,
Most of the time I try to pretend it does not exist.
And then they catch me off guard,
Victims, I see it plastered everywhere, how to help them, how not to become one.
As if we are the plague and truly no one wants to be like us,
Not we are strong, not it's not our fault, what they see is, wow, I am glad that is not me.
And when it cracks when they speak to me and they can see it in my eyes they are sorry.
So pretty, they say, what a shame.
I agree, I think, what a shame,
One moment of something that wasnt my fault and now I am a victim.
Because of their labeling, I think, but no.
Truly it is in the way I cannot take a shower without the door locked and music playing.
Truly it is how I flinch sometimes when he touches me even though I long to love him without borders.
I do. I love him and he loves me, and yet still I am plagued.
A victim, they say, oh what a shame.
Don't talk about it and maybe it will disappear,
Shhhh.. my darling, the end is near.
The darkness is here for but a while longer,
And yet still I wonder....
Will I never get past this, will all these years be lost for the years in which my own father took advantage,
How can I trust?
They should have protected me.
But it doesn't matter now, shhhhh... don't let them see.