13 Year Old Walls

Grief is one hell of a drug

We learned that in 8th grade health

But I had nothing to grieve

My pride was hanging from the ceiling fan in the living room when I left for school this morning

Knowing I was no longer my own but property of her violence

Those years no one knew I existed but in the tales breathed through locker doors

I was one more light fading

Do you know what it’s like knowing you’re dying but not from what?

I am no longer that 13 year old

Wondering when they’re going to teach you about the hell you shouldn’t be feeling, but was gifted in a pretty purple box between her fist colliding with your skin and the whispered worthless it communicated to you

They never will teach you about it

Years later I hope they recite those lessons to the walls of 8th graders like myself

Wishing there is something to stop the burning

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