Everyone wants to know my story
What happened?
How?
When?
Why?
How did it unfold?
My story is just that; a story
Like a book you read and than tell the plot because it was just.. so...... juicy
To you my story is just a tale you hear or read about.
Entertainment
A distraction
Something you just hear
Something you gasp about
Something you won't believe
You hear it, but it would never happened to you
How could it?
Right!?
You would've fought harder
Told someone
Never trusted the perpetrator
Never been in the wrong place at the wrong time
Never kept quiet
You would've escaped
You wouldn't let it go so far
My trauma is my fault
I carry the heavy weight of it on the back of my mind
Where it threatens to come out and drowned me till I can't move
I carry it in my throat, choking me
I carry it in my soul
The scars, the memories
It's not happening anymore, but all it takes is a change of smell, a stupid gesture, a word, an accent
Just fucking thinking about it and I'm there all over again defenseless
But you want to know my story,
To ask why I didn't do more
Why didn't I speak up sooner?
How could I not see the signs?
I didn't run away
"It wasn't that bad if you stayed"
My story will never be told
