no title.

Once upon a time, I found myself in a closet. It was dark. I was there staring into the darkness accepting what I began to see as my consequence. Lifted up and prodded like a piece of meat. Like, I did not matter. Like, I only existed to be violated. Then, left to deal with it on my own. Left to feel dirty and disgusting. Left to feel like it was my fault. Like I wanted it. Not even Sorry. Not even an apology.

I feel not worthy existing. I am in that closet again. I keep finding myself in that dark place where I look on. Isn’t it ironic that the place where I was violated is the same place my mind runs to when I am scared and alone?

You got what you wanted.

You finally broke me.

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