I'm not okay. It's not my opinion. It's not anyone's opinion. It's fact.
Why do I always wear long sleeves? Why do I always look down when I walk? Why do I never tell anyone? Because I'm scared.
I'm scared of what might happen. I'm scared that it'll get worse. I'm scared it'll be the same.
I'm scared I'll always be like this. I'm scared of nothing changing.
They noticed my actions. But they didn't notice the cuts and scratches.
They didn't notice they constant pain. They never noticed anything worth looking at!
I didn't think I was of worth. I wasn't worth anything, I'll admit.
But was I really nothing to them? Why did they let me on for so long?
I never figured that out. I never figured anything out.
Because by the time they noticed.
It was too late.
YOU ARE READING
Mysterious
PoetryLove is different for all of us. Some is given. Some is taken. Some is one-sided. Some isn't. Hate is different for all of us. Some is given. Some is taken. Some is one-sided. Some isn't.
