September 20, 2011 (Age 13)
Dear diary,
The boys look at me funny.
Do I look stupid?
I wore makeup and the outfit provided by my father.
He had told me I looked too young, I guess this helped.
The house is still empty.
The bra from months ago still lingers in the pool.
Dunkin tore a hole in the couch;
that nasty mutt.
Father used to call him that.
I still have no love, no guy who will sleep with me.
I asked my friend about sex, and she told the whole lunchroom that I was disgusting.
Everyone made fun of me.
I don't like the words they say.
They call me a slut, Elle.
YOU ARE READING
the diary of a teenage whore
Poetrya girl who told them all it was okay to leave, but cried when they left. ☆ amazing cover by @amethystnebula ☆
