To The Girl...

To the girl who
is up to her ankles in tears,
and up to her knees in blood.

To the girl who
remembers oh too well what it's like
to be shoved against a wall.
Screamed at.
Slapped hard across the face.

To the girl who
doesn't even register the word
"disappointment" anymore,
because she's heard it too many times.

To the girl who
doesn't trust anyone anymore,
even herself,
because she knows better.

To the girl who
reads the same books over and over again,
because they're all she has
to help her forget.

To the girl who
bites at her skin
when she starts to remember what was said.
To focus. To sting.
To shake it all out of her head.

To the girl who
didn't think she was strong enough
to make the choice to see another day.
She didn't want to wake up one more time.

To the girl who
heard screaming and yelling
through the paper thin walls,
and made excuses to walk by.
To get a glass of water, to check the windows were shut.
Because, when she walked by...
It stopped. For just a moment.

To the girl who
checks and double checks that
every lock on every door is shut,
because her brain won't let her sleep without it.

To the girl who
was branded with the thought
that being the best
still wasn't even close to
good enough.

To the girl who
carried a knife with her upstairs,
if she was home alone,
because the deafening, roaring whispers
inside her head
told her that
she wasn't safe.

To the girl who
walked on egg shells every day
for longer than she would care to remember,
afraid of setting someone off,
of starting another horrible fight.

To the girl who
stopped caring who she hurt,
because obviously,
they had never cared to return the favor.

To the girl who
had to lie to her friends
about where she had to go every week,
ashamed and forced into therapy
with a lady that smelled like dust.

To the girl who
hid her scars, oh so well.
Aside from the people who already knew,
only one person ever saw and asked.

To the girl who
still loves sweatshirts that have extra long sleeves,
so they can cover her hands.
Even though she has nothing to hide anymore,
it's still a habit.

To the girl who
prayed to god for forgiveness
for what she was about to do,
knowing it was a sin.
But doing it anyways.

To the girl who
was crumpled on the floor,
choking and unable to breathe,
in the dark,
as they turned around and walked out of the room,
down the hallway,
leaving thunderous words
hanging heavily in the air.

To the girl who
ran out the door,
not even pausing for shoes,
and ran as far as she could.
And when she couldn't run anymore,
she walked as far as she could.
And when she couldn't walk anymore,
she went just a little farther.
And then she just sat.

To the girl who
doesn't think it was all that bad,
until she actually remembers.

To the girl who
thought she was in love again.
With a boy who wasn't.

To the girl who
hated herself,
because so did everyone else.

To the girl who
couldn't control her mood swings,
and pushed away the only comfort she's ever known.

To the girl who
lied.

To the girl who
cried.

To the girl who
wishes she'd died.

Very sincerely,
To me.