The boys all want something they can have but why ask when its so easy to take?

The girls are all pretty, we’re all pretty. Pretty enough anyway. And still I’m too ugly to befriend or too pretty to stand or more fun to gossip about. 

My blood is like honey, everyone wants some, stabs in the back don’t quite satiate.

How?

Cut me open from the chest all the way down and drink from me.

Take my flower, take my pretty, take my smart, my love, joy, laughter and then some more of whatever you're looking for or can find.

Take parts I didn’t know I had. 

What’s left?

What’s gone?

Too many descriptors to fill a world. Too little descriptors to feel a room full of people known to gossip and spread words from person to person to person to person.

It won't help.

But it maybe all that's left. Tears. Sadness and sorrow.

they are mine.

I cherish

       every

           drop.

I’m full of regret. 

Who’s wardrobe was I? Was I not? Who’s friend, foe? Lover?

Still consumed by the wrong things. What are right things?

Nothing was ever mine or meant for me, even what I did. Myself.

I let them take. I wanted them to take.

“DRINK OF ME, ITS FREE!”

I gave so willingly.

So easily.

So effortlessly.

Priceless.

Worthless.

nothing.

You’ve left me this way. 

We’ve left me this way.

I did this?

Raped,

lied to, about, on, for, with

beaten, bruised.

I was fake. We hated it.

I’ve met all the marks but met none at the exact same time.

I’ve dug, deeper and deeper

             deeper and deeper

              deeper and deeper

Facing forward I watch us all. Backward I fall.

I’ve dug, now I’ve laid. 

Close me in and write above me:

SHE TRIED BUT COULDN’T TRY AT ALL. GOOD RIDDANCE.

Years pass and your tyke find me.

The stories kept going.

Did they? 

.

.

.

.

.

“Here lies… wait who was she?”

“Some girl. No mark, did nothing. Was nothing.”

“LOL. Whatever, let’s take a selfie.”