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Dantza

I once believed that there are certain people in this world that you can always turn to. I was disillusioned of that notion at the young age of three. When my family asked me why I didn't trust them and I told them why, they replied that I was being immature and needed to grow up. I was 7. People need to understand that my pain is justified and I'm not a perfect toy that they can use for their own gain. I've hated myself for a long time. I don't like being used and abused, tossed aside, then threatened into compliance, I'm giving that up now. I may never recover completely from what my family and my family's friends have done to me but I should be allowed to be happy and cope in a way I've been happy. My counselor said my coping skills are healthier than most so why is my mother telling me to stop using them and only use the ones she seems fit. Why can't I use my phone to cope with all the physical, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse I suffered from while under her care? Why can't I write and read things that calm me down but conflict with her views? I'm not sorry this is me. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out I'm only a part of the problem but I am not the whole problem. I'm done and gone. My lies for them are gone. It's not my fault. I covered and lied to keep them safe and all I've ever gotten are stabs in the back. I don't see the light. I don't see any hope. All I see it the freedom, trust, and stability they never really let me have.

You never called me sweet.
You only told me my faults,
My head was a toy
My heart a punching bag
My body both
Thank you, but no thanks, I'll tag
Out. My existence annoys
Your love for me halts
Wait, it wasn't there. Now all I hear
Are the tweets of your messages of
Anger towards me.
I once believed that there are certain people in this world that you can always turn to. I was disillusioned of that notion at the young age of three. When my family asked me why I didn't trust them and I told them why, they replied that I was being immature and needed to grow up. I was 7. People need to understand that my pain is justified and I'm not a perfect toy that they can use for their own gain. I've hated myself for a long time. I don't like being used and abused, tossed aside, then threatened into compliance, I'm giving that up now. I may never recover completely from what my family and my family's friends have done to me but I should be allowed to be happy and cope in a way I've been happy. My counselor said my coping skills are healthier than most so why is my mother telling me to stop using them and only use the ones she seems fit. Why can't I use my phone to cope with all the physical, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse I suffered from while under her care? Why can't I write and read things that calm me down but conflict with her views? I'm not sorry this is me. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out I'm only a part of the problem but I am not the whole problem. I'm done and gone. My lies for them are gone. It's not my fault. I covered and lied to keep them safe and all I've ever gotten are stabs in the back. I don't see the light. I don't see any hope. All I see it the freedom, trust, and stability they never really let me have.

You never called me sweet.
You only told me my faults,
My head was a toy
My heart a punching bag
My body both
Thank you, but no thanks, I'll tag
Out. My existence annoys
Your love for me halts
Wait, it wasn't there. Now all I hear
Are the tweets of your messages of
Anger towards me.

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