Fault

When I was young and perky.

I loved cute things.

Mini skirts, high socks, cute tops,

These were things that made me feel lovely and free.

I loved the attention, and boys that wanted to talk to me.

I loved being called pretty and feeling cherished.

I had friends and for a while I thought I wasn’t alone.

But I guess I was wrong.

You see, I was barely fourteen when I first discovered the place.

I came in for the cards and games,

Even though I was the only few girls who even went in,

This place was Home and magical in my naiveness.

No one cared of how I played games,

But it was the first time I felt pretty and cool, so I loved it.

I didn’t care if they were five and twenty years older than me.

They were my friends and I trusted them.

I trusted him.

After a few months flew by he kissed me,

I didn’t stop.

After a few weeks he touched me,

I just let it slide.

He told me age didn’t matter because he loved me,

He was 30.

I was 14.

One day he made me a woman.

Or so he said.

He said he’d marry me,

He said many things,

Scary things.

I was young, I didn’t know better.

So I hid in the time that seemed like forever,

And I dived into being nothing.

Into feeling nothing.

Now that I’m in my twenties,

I went back to liking cute things,

Telling myself that it’s okay to like them again.

Telling myself it was okay to be human.

But my boyfriend called me a whore, and not a real woman.

I was just calling to be touched,

That if I get touched it was my fault.

That when I was touched it was my fault.

When I was raped it was my fault.

Everyone knows it, he said.

Everyone says it, he explained.

It was my fault?

I couldn't stop thinking about that

I should’ve known better than to trust men,

I should’ve known better than to dress how I wanted.

It was my fault.

It will always be my fault.

In his belief,

I should've been over it,

Forgotten about it.

But it hurts.

It really hurts.

I can feel the hands,

I can feel the confusion,

I can feel it all.

Please forgive me God for I have sinned,

seduced a man in my youth without knowledge of my deed.

Forgive me for all the men that have touched me and used me without my consent,

I truly am, a sinner.

It hurts,

It really hurts,

Why was I born a woman?

Why was I born to be used?

Why was I born to be guilty?

Guilty of the deeds of others.

Guilty for the monsters that live within us.

Guilty of being a victim.