My words feel like marbles in my mouth and my blood tar in my veins.
I hate my life and I hate myself.
I feel nothing but their hands on me. Their smell on my skin. Their voices in my ears.
I can’t look at myself and not see my reflection bloody, tear soaked and ruined.
I was 10.
Then I was 14.
Then 17.
Then 17 again.
There are too many faces to remember.
I don’t know why so many things happened. I don’t know why so many men sought me out. I don’t know what I dd to make them do those things. I know I did nothing to make them do those things.
I know it is my fault.
I know it is theirs.
I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without crying.
It’s not fair
