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Pretty lies and convienent truths

Born into a realm where facades gleam and half-truths soothe,

Before 'mother' found form on my tongue, from her bosom I was removed.

At the tender age of eight, braided yarn in hand,

I unearthed secrets in those threads, a world unplanned.

By nine, my discoveries brought labels, harsh and cold,

Branded 'broken', a narrative unfairly told.

At eleven, within actual school walls I was set,

Solitude my prior tutor, with beasts and boughs my only bet.

Clueless in the art of mingling, a misfit in their space,

An alien girl, I seemed, in an unwelcoming place.

A threat to their pristine bubble, so they perceived me to be,

Thus, they launched their cruel assaults, both physical and decree.

At eleven, the thought of vanishing from this world crossed my mind,

A weary soul contemplating escape, a peace to find.

At twelve, I offered a boy my youthful affection,

His retort, an accusation of a deed beyond my comprehension,

Not until four years hence would I grasp its mention.

The institution favored him, casting me out, an unwelcome reflection.

By thirteen, I learned to detach, to sever heartstrings with precision,

Emotions, once a beacon, now led to an abyss, a decision to avoid that prison.

Fourteen brought the dawn of realization, my identity's colorful span,

A date unveiled the truth; I was pansexual, part of who I am.

Fifteen introduced me to the objectification of my being,

In the halls of higher learning, my youth prompted unforeseen preening.

One boy's discovery of my age echoed loud through the class,

A wave of whispers I didn't fully grasp, a social morass.

That same year, the ground beneath me shifted, my world redefined,

My grandmother's death, a move to my father's, life's cruel design.

It was then I met the ghosts of my past, in flashbacks they came,

And in the theatre of my dreams, memories replayed their haunting game.

At fifteen, a revelation: my feelings weren't a sign of being broken,

Yet was told their expression must wait 'til eighteen, a timeframe spoken.

I dissented in silence, an internal critique.

My sixteenth birthday brought a phone, a new technologic mystique,

That night spent on my knees, obeying a voice, faceless and bleak,

Who knew not of the youth in me, the truth I didn't speak.

For their peace of mind, I reasoned, but fear was at the core,

Fear that knowledge of my true self would close yet another door.

At sixteen, my first foray into love ended in a harsh farewell,

He nudged my boundaries further than I wished to dwell.

Help seemed a distant concept, so alone I faced his coercive spell,

I thought it ended there, but the saga swelled.

Outed to my kin, chaos unfurled, a domestic maelstrom arose,

Next, the puppetry of law, their manipulation in plain clothes.

Once more to solitude I was cast, an all too familiar pose,

For such is life's relentless cycle, as the weary adage goes.

At seventeen, I surrendered what some call purity,

Halting him, voicing the pain—a stark reality.

He promised ease with continuation, a deceptive remedy,

And I, in my innocence, agreed, unable to proclaim my agony.

Wasn't my purpose to fulfill his desire? So I falsely believed.

On the journey home, his words struck me with the role I had achieved,

"Just sex," he claimed, a truth stark and unadorned.

I nodded, hollow, then wept in solitude, feeling scorned.

Submissively content that I had been of use,

Yet humanly, I was shattered, my essence abused.

Ignorant still, that mutual respect in intimacy should be infused,

That my submission, my trust, were mine to bestow, not to be misused.

Even my brother's warnings failed to impart this creed,

That my worth was mine to guard, and not for others to lead.

At the same age, a peer's intrusive hands found me in school halls,

His touch unwanted, my attire not a consent to his calls.

Civil attempts gave way to discomfort too profound,

His actions, a silent claim that my 'no' was void, my boundaries unwound.

With gathered courage, I reported, seeking the institution's aid,

But cameras blind to his stealth left my words to fade.

With only my testimony, I faced a battle with no blade,

A feeble reprimand his consequence, his adherence to it frayed.

So from my circle, I withdrew, fearing their judgment might be swayed,

For the risk of disbelief was a price too great to be paid.

At eighteen, I journeyed once more, across the country's span,

A third migration, where my tangled beliefs began to unclan.

It was there I encountered truth, and a soul who honored my decree,

A person who respected my wishes, a rarity for me.

By twenty, I extended a hand to a friend ensnared by abuse,

And in the midst of their escape, my heart became profuse.

Yet that tentative thread of our nascent poly bond,

They twisted for their gain, a conniving magic wand.

They isolated me, pushed for aid that was not my own desire,

When their plans faltered, their spite fueled a darker fire.

Submerged in depressive depths, with anxiety as my shroud,

My partner's reach was stifled, their voice lost in the crowd.

In time, from that harmful loop, we broke away, found release,

And with that freedom, finally, I began to find my peace.

I took on a contract, a modeling gig with promise of greater pay,

Negotiations I thought airtight, a clear-cut array.

Yet another stranger shattered my trust, my consent defiled,

In my gasp for air, he struck, asking if I'd be tamed and mild.

Safety whispered to comply rather than invite more harm,

So I froze, as he veered from our agreement, setting off every alarm.

I was lost, numb, craving nothing but a shower's cleanse and tears,

Exiting with a facade of normalcy, while inside fleeing from my fears.

Trapped within a body that felt foreign, a stranger to myself,

A prison of flesh where discomfort was tucked away on a mental shelf.

Weeks later, I summoned the courage to bring my case before the law,

Hope flickered, this time different, it must, I saw.

Yet as before, my voice crumbled into systemic crevices, unheard,

No physical evidence, no rape kit, no bruises to affirm the word.

How could I prove awareness of pain, when I had not resisted?

I chose safety over struggle, and justice seemed so twisted.

Charging a phantom with a crime, when he eludes the tangible plane,

Without his existence acknowledged, how could my account sustain?

I was born into a world that accepts pretty lies and convenient truths,

Because they are far easier to swallow than the harsh realities of our youths.
Written by athar
Published
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