On The Edge

I am born on the edge.

The people surround me.

They talk about how pretty I am

and bicker over who I look like

- my mother or my father.

They don't notice my dull eyes,

or they choose to ignore it.

I am born. I am on the edge.

I learn to walk on the edge.

The people cheer for me.

They encourage me to run

and they laugh when I fall

- as long as I'm not hurt.

They don't notice I don't speak,

or they choose to ignore it.

I can walk. I am on the edge.

I go to school on the edge.

The people worry for me.

They cry for my departure

and lecture me about safety

- "cover yourself in your friend's blood".

They don't notice my lack of care,

or they choose to ignore it.

I go to school. I am on the edge.

I date on the edge.

The people are happy for me.

They talk about milestones of life

and talk more about safety

- condoms and etcetera.

They don't notice the abuse,

or they choose to ignore it.

I am dating. I am on the edge.

I sit on the edge.

The people are yelling at me.

They are mad for I speak too much

and tell me everything I say is wrong

- even with proof.

They don't notice the reality,

or they choose to ignore it.

I am sitting. I am on the edge.

I stand on the edge.

The people are still mad at me.

I say too many things

and have too many opinions

- like rapists are the problem.

They don't notice the way they're breaking me,

or they choose to ignore it.

I am standing. I am on the edge.

I scream on the edge.

The people are now quiet.

They don't know what to say

and stare at me in horror

- horror for why I would do that.

They don't notice my frustration,

or they choose to ignore it.

I scream. I am on the edge.

I cry on the edge.

The people are speaking again.

They are mad at my outbursts

and for being so loud

- for telling them to be quiet.

They don't notice I don't care,

or they choose to ignore it.

I cry. I am on the edge.

I stare in silence on the edge.

The people are yelling at me again.

They won't stop telling me what to do

and who to be

- no matter what I say.

They don't notice I'm not their property,

or they choose to ignore it.

I stare in silence. I am on the edge.

I jump off the edge.

The people scream in terror.

They cry over my action

and panic at the knowledge

- the knowledge they can't do anything.

They don't notice I'm just freeing myself,

or they choose to ignore it.

I am falling. I am off the edge.

I am in the ground.

The people cry still.

They say they miss me

and they love me

- never saying they're sorry for always blaming me.

They don't notice I don't care now,

or they choose to ignore it.

I am in the ground. I am dead.

I am free.

I am sorry for the pain it has caused some.

But I am not sorry for me

or everyone who harassed me

- everyone who said it was all my fault.

No one is yelling at me now,

or saying I'm exaggerating.

I am free. Free from people like that.

I have grown.

The people hate me for it.

They still mourn who I once was

and continue living with her memory

- never admitting they're the ones who killed her.

They don't notice I am safe now,

or perhaps they just don't care.

I have grown. I have watched my abusers drown.