Do we ever think before we break a heart?
Or hurt someone?
I wonder if the ones who hurt me even remember that they touched me. Held me. Kissed me.
I wonder if they remember all of the lies they told, or how they treated me after.
Some apologized, offering booze for my underage pleasure as a parting gift. Some asked me to never tell anyone that we even met.
I remember them.
I remember the hope and then the immediate shame and regret.
There is only one man who ever treated me kindly, and I hurt him.
I should look back and consider you a beacon of hope. A glimpse of what romance should look like.
I wish I thought of you more than all the rest.
I wish I remembered the way you kissed me, but all I can remember is the way the others looked at me like I was trash.
A waste of space.
Nothing more than a hole to put their dick in.
I don’t think I’ll ever get better.
Once something has been so completely shattered, it’s almost impossible to find all the pieces, let alone put it back together again.
Thats how I feel.