Survival

“Lucky you” people say,
when I choose not to focus on my outward appearance
yet exude confidence —
as if I didn’t spend years hating myself,
throwing up after every meal
just to try and find love within.

“Pretty privilege” people assume,
when I tell them I’ve never been broken up with.
Not understanding that I have ran away my entire life;
leaving before I could ever actually be left.
But I always knew when it was coming;

they don’t tell you that forever is finite.

“I just thought you’d be different.”
Trying to turn the fact they thought I’d be dumb and incompetent
into some form of a compliment I should appreciate.
”You’re just so much smarter than I thought you’d be when I first met you.”
Am I supposed to say thank you?

Take it, take it, take it.
You should be happy.
Grateful, grateful, grateful.

I smile my pretty little smile and nod,
feeling my body wilt and resign.
I have so much more to offer, but I let the conversation die.
Purposely guarding the magic you will now never receive;
the pretty mask hiding all the spiraling thoughts inside of me.

“He really likes you,” I’ve heard about a hundred men.
Not understanding that I couldn’t even wear a skirt at ten,
without grown men really liking the fact that I do.
I can see them in the eyes of every man I meet.

And they sure do like me until I tell them no,
trying to get away on the bathroom floor,
trying to kill myself and getting fucked instead —
terror and shame and blame destroying every piece within.
I’ve gotten good at rebuilding myself from the rubble.

They turn my lack of interest into a character trait,
labeling me with all the words their morale allows.
Not even realizing the power I have over their own perception.

I have been used my entire life,
the outlet for others’ dreams and fantasies.
To egress and condemn.
So I lay out all my cards on the table,
showing you my hand —
revealing all I see for you to understand.

The discomfort in truth weighs heavy,
but at least it is no longer something I carry alone.

I hope you understand,
not even being able to smile at a customer,
with a happy “hi, welcome in”
in fear of being raped behind a dumpster
is not lucky me.

I hope you realize that sometimes being mean and callous
while also being sweet in the open
stems hatred that breeds fear.

The truth is seen by all, but everybody plays the game.

I digress.
I no longer wish to play.

Which side are you on?

The truth reveals more about you than you realize.
Lucky you.

Get the fuck away from me.