Dear Diary,
He didn’t hit me today.
Should I be happy that no bruises mar my pale white skin?
Or glad that all my blonde, wavy hair is still in my scalp?
Should I be thankful that for once, he didn’t raise a hand towards me?
Or upset that my brown eyes hold no vitality?
I ask myself these questions, but tell me.
What good does it do to ask questions?
There are plenty of things I could do to stop the abuse.
There are teachers I could tell, counselors I could see.
Would any of them care though?
Does it really matter if I look at razor blades with longing?
Or bottles of pills with contemplation?
It would be easy to slide the blade along my vein.
It would be easier to swallow down those pills.
There is only one small problem though.
Even with my dull eyes, there is a spark of determination.
Even with my matted hair, there is a shine waiting to be brought out.
The blue and purple of my skin could fade, and it could darken in the sun.
With all these possibilities, how could I end it?
How could I let him win?
The answer is that I can’t.
He will never have the satisfaction of hearing me cry out in pain.
Tears will never flow from my eyes.
Until the day I can escape, he will never fully break me.
Never will he see my eyes lose all determination.
These are the things I live for.
No matter what happens during my time on this planet,
I will never give up.
*****************
So, let me start off by saying, that I've never been abused. I wrote this at four in the morning when I couldn't sleep. Haven't a clue where it came from... any who, hope you enjoyed.
