Hey, you. You kicked me and punched me even though you were younger. I didn't know how to fight back.
Hey, you. You told me I read too much, and put me down for it every day, even though you knew that you couldn't read nearly as well as me.
Hey, you. You through my pen over a fence, and as comical as it sounds, it hurt me. That had been a gift from my parents.
Hey, you. You talked about me behind my back, probably about how ugly I was since I had yet to lose my baby fat. I was a book lover and a believer in magic. You tried to destroy that.
Hey, you. You told me I was wearing too much makeup, and hell, I probably was for an eleven year old. But was it really your right to tell me so?
Hey, you. You call me emo because I just so happened to wear all black. Are you serious? If you eat fruit, it doesn't make you a healthy person.
Hey, you. Tonight, I read your comment on Instagram. A comment from eight months ago. I had said something, you had told me to "just like go away". Oh, I'm sorry motherfucker, I didn't realize I was interrupting the thoughts going on amongst your two brain cells. We both know you would've failed science without me two years ago, when I did all the work whenever we were in a group. And if you really wanted me to leave, why did you put an arrow up at my comment rather than tag me? Because you're a coward. You're a stupid coward who feeds off of the pain of others. You're a boy who thinks it's okay that your jokes hurt one person and make another laugh.
Well, do I have news for you, kid. You did it. You made me cry for a good half an hour. I'm already at a not so good place, and your comment, your little, cowardly, eight months ago comment pushed me over an edge. Your comment made me wonder if I was really that awful. If there was any point to me speaking up. I considered hurting myself because of you.
All of you. You think what you say harms nobody, but it does. All these feelings built up inside of me. As I write this, my vision is blurring and I am crying. I am crying because of you. I am in pain because of you.
Some of your words hurt worse than others. But they still hurt. They all hurt. I am wrought with scars, wounds that are still having trouble healing. And it is because of you.
I am ashamed to say I listened to you. I am ashamed that you could hurt me. But your words hit me when I was alright on one knee.
But believe me, if I am hurt again, I won't stay quiet anymore, for the sake of your perfect little screwed up world.
I will explode.
