Like Trash

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’m sorry.

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.

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