good enough

I gave you all of me but it still wasn’t enough to make too happy. I never measured up. 

I gave you everything. I crossed oceans and fought wars, yet never came close. 

I just want you to look at me, and see that I was good enough.

I kept trying to make you smile. Ended up in tears and fights.  

I kept trying. You kept making me jump through hoops. 

I tried to show you I was strong, why did I even bother?

I tried to show you that I changed. I tried to show you I was smart enough. I tried to show you that I cared so much. Kept trying. 

I dreamt of the day you would realise that I was enough. That you would welcome me with open arms. Accept me as I am. 

I still remember the day I gave up. Yet you still made me be the one to walk away. Made me take the blame. 

Time passed. I’m still here. Waiting for your approval. For you to acknowledge how far I come. 



Is anybody there? Does anybody care? Please help me. I could use a hand right now. I wanna disappear. Does anyways care about how I’m feeling?

This heavy feeling in my chest. It hurts so much. Please. 

You said you would be there for me. But I hate asking you to help me. Im ashamed. I’m wasting your time. You have a life too. And so do you. And you too. 

Please stop judging me. Stop giving me those looks of disappointment. If only you knew. Why can’t you perceive this as a sign of me asking you for help? That I desperately need help? I seriously cannot deal or handle this anymore. 

You wake up each day. Make yourself some coffee. Check your phone and scroll through the updates of your friends. Then check your email. Think about work. School. Work. School. Make yourself some breakfast. Watch football. Then you go to work. On other days you go to school. 

Your days are already so occupied. I understand. Now is not the time to settle. Now is not the time truly focus specific people. You have so much ahead of you. So do I. At least for now. 

That’s why there is a need for psychologists and counsellors. You told me that you feel like mine. 

I’m never gonna post on social media on how much I’m hurting, how many times I feel like killing myself, how I would do it, how I wanna run away, how I wanna hurt him so bad. 

I think you need to sort out your priorities or I’m gone. 

always “there”

Thank you. Thank you did always being there. You’re the best sweetheart. Thank you. You know you’re fine. You know that you are going to be successful. You know that. Thank you for reassuring me. Thank you for saying you will be there.

Thank you for making time for me. Thank you for undermining me. Thank you for making it seem like not a big deal. It’s just another casualty. Thank you for trying to put more effort then leaving when things tough. 

I’m on my own. Always have been. You are never truly there. I’m done. 

nothing else to offer

What other reasons do they have to be interested in you? They have better things to do. They have families. They are in high level positions. You’re just starting out. Why would they speak to you? What is there to gain from speaking to you? Don’t fool yourself, be realistic. That’s what they think when they look at you, what’s going on in their heads when they approach you. 

Don’t fool yourself sweetheart. 

part 8 – me

This is blurry. We kept meeting after school. I felt so special. We had phone sex every night where you told me all your fantasies. I kept thinking how I could satisfy you. You called me babe the whole time. You mentioned that I should go running to lose weight. When we saw your friends saw me, I knew you were ashamed. I write you love letters where I said I was so happy that you were my first. I bought a promise ring. I wanted to be yours forever. You told me you were leaving the country for college.  People started to find out. I kept coming home late. My parents caught us. My mother did. She read my letter to you. I didn’t realise at the time. She was devastaed. She was so angry. My father found out. They confiscated my phone and banned me from seeing you. I met you anyways. My father finally confronted you. My father threatened to call the police. He wanted you arrested. I was only 13, you were turning 18. They were horrified that we engaged in so many sexual encounters. I told them it was all my fault. I told them I wanted you and loved you. I told them you did nothing wrong. I told them I wanted you to fuck me. 

My humiliation. 

You loved fucking me hard. I saw it in your eyes when you shoved me, slapped me, spit on me, peed on me, humiliated me. You loved to choke me until my eyes turned red and I was close to fainting. You pleasured in my degradation. I was your whore, stupid whore. This was how you called me. You rarely complimented me. At times, it satisfied me. At times, it was too much. But I was scared to tell you to stop. I thought I wouldn’t be enough for you. I thought you would leave me. I remember finding bruises and red marks on my body. I showed them to you. You did not react. You didn’t apologize. It happened again. I tried to view it as sexy to have be marked by you. And believed that. The pain and soreness afterwards. 

I did not and still do not blame you. I thought I was helping you with your issues. I was your punching bag to release your stress, hurts, and childhood traumas. I loved you. I wanted to help you recover.