I don’t mean
the things I write
except in the ways I do.
The way there is still
a five year old girl inside me
believing she deserves
not to be loved.
There is still a 13 year old me
who does not understand
it’s just chemicals,
who cuts open her flesh
to make sure she bleeds
the same as everyone else.
There is still 16 year old me
who won’t let anyone touch her
because she knows everyone
will leave.
There is still the girl you left
lying awake nights
crying an writing
and begging you to come back.
