It's no big deal. That's what they all say. Their tune changes when I tell them my motives. If it's really no big deal why is it you cringe when I speak? Why do you look away from me when I give you the details you ask for? In some twisted way I'm glad you can't stand to hear me without falling apart, but in other ways it breaks me. How can the world expect me to stay sane when others loose it with minor details. Everyone is budging in line to get to the front, but as soon as they are there it's stalling time. When is it alright for you to tell me to stay strong when things the don't even come close to my devastation haunt your subconscious? It's all fun and games till someone drops the bomb. "Be careful what you say, that one was raped" or " Don't go there man, she's fucked up". To my surprise when you get brutally beaten and violated it's only natural that almost everyone you know avoids you. I'm 16 and you're 27 but that 11 year gap separates us the way earth divides the heavens from hell. My maturity is questioned on a daily. Tell me ma'am, just how pleasant would your mood be if someone where to force themselves in between your legs and create a fucking black hole thru your life? Joy is sucked away, so it's either blind hatred or my self imploding fear and depression. Do you realize you ask me to be the perfect victim? I must stay strong in my everyday yet be weak to the court, it's expected of me to be the voice for others hurt as I am yet I am never to speak of my suffrage. This may not seem like a story type thing but that's only because my life is that of a disaster novel. Every turning page heightens the death tole and still you have no choice but to stare into those pages. In life we tend to forget the actual text and read between the lines. Problem is there's only blank space. What type of art museum would explain to you the substances artists had to consume before regurgitating their self righteous bullshit onto a canvas? Oh, fuck wait they don't. Humanity craves deeper meaning in just about everything. How difficult is it to comprehend. I was raped and beaten. There's no underlined shitty hopeful retort. Plain and simply painful. Done. I am the bad acid trip. My life and doubts all on the canvas. You then, happen to be the ever inspecting assholes who pry at the brushstrokes like I was trying to speak thru them. In all honesty I didn't know I was painting. The stokes overlap because I wasn't living reality. Who gives a fuck if my veins are twisted? Nobody will even notice until the autopsy, but it's nothing right? I am clearly the lesser person for not having the perfect answer to each of your accusing questions. I am a human. At least I was. I'm more of a hollow shell now, however, tell me again how it is you would handle my strife with grace. Tell me how brave you could be starring into an abyss. Lie to me once more and swear to me how irrelevant my misfortune is to my attitude. It's nothing. You'll be fine. How about you mind your own business. This is between the bottom of the bottle and me. It's nothing... Personally really.