Avius (AP)

I hate you, For what you did. I could scrub my skin, Until I bled, And still I don’t think, That would be enough,  To get your fingerprints, Off my skin. You took something from me, And for that,  I hate you.  But mostly,  I hate myself.

maybe i was lucky because he didn’t make my body bleed and the bruises faded quickly; lucky because she finally called my mother, even if it was just because i wanted her to. because four is a lot less than twenty, or fifty, and intentions are supposed to speak louder than actions. but he tells me again he isn’t yelling, with raised voice and clenching fists, and i begin to wonder if his hands really did touch my throat or if i was just hurting.