My story

Dear people at my school,
That girl you call a whore you don’t know here scars you don’t know her pain.
You don’t know she was consistently molested before the age of four.
Before she knew the value of the word no.  
Back when rainbows had pots of gold  
And fairies dances under lilac eyelids.
Back when a bedroom was just a room
Not a battle ground for a secret war.
He told her her body was a temple
Then stole the jewels
He said they wouldn’t believe her and that they wouldn’t love her no more.
And she believed him.
So she put up her walls and a smile on her face.
She posed for family photos with the villain  of her bad dreams.
He tore pages out before she had even read the book.
He was supposed to be her big brother.
He was supposed to protect her for the bad guys, the people who would hurt her.
Instead he became them.  
And when they found out it became a secret a shameful thing but not for him,
For the pigtail girl with the sad eyes and the painted on smile. Just another girl growing up in this world. Where judgements are made and stories remain untold.