From the ages 8-12, I was your bitch. You did whatever the fuck you wanted with me. We were so young. You kept me in my place. Making sure I never won. You made me lose. Losing made you humiliate me further.
Each year was someone new. Someone who would beat me. Made me stay on the ground. Lick it. Reminded me of whom was.
Parts of my memory is still blocked. But I remember. I remember you touched my early developed breasts, you couldn’t understand. I remember you hurting me.
Before going to school, I would try to flatten them. So you wouldn’t get mad. So you wouldn’t make me hate myself as much.
I remember us hanging out into the toilet a lot. I remember being so hungry. You didnt let me eat my packed lunch. Told me I was already so fat. I didn’t need anymore food. You got this wooden Popsicle stick. You looked for a stall where no one flushed yet. I remember you going inside and dipping the stick. You then told me to lick the stick.
We were just kids. I didn’t understand why you hated me so much.
Even when I reached out and spoke to others about you, no one believed me. No one could ever think, for just a second, that to you were capable of such things.