She was a chubby little girl.
And with the way society talks nowadays
you'd assume it'd be the chubby ones that could stay safe.
Fear crippled her,
even at 5 years old,
sitting in her father's lap,
her uncertainty as ripe as bacteria laden mold,
but he didn't do it.
Not like the others had done.
But she still couldn't trust that the evil poison
wasn't in his lungs.
No, trusting was for fools.
It'd been proven as time went on.
She couldn't trust men to keep their hands
where they belonged.
5 years old, and already afraid.
Always living in a panic,
always feeling betrayed.
And so she ate, she ate, and she ate some more.
She pushed her feelings down with
fries and a cheeseburger.
She thought, maybe, it'd keep them at bay,
wandering fingers and stolen childhood -
her self esteem being molded by dis-proportioned clay.
And everyone's lives went on like normal.
Everyone's but hers,
because it all becomes real
if she says the words.
Who was she supposed to talk to?
About all of these traumas?
She had no one to go to.
Not even the people who were supposed to be
fulfilling an unspoken promise:
to keep her safe, and leave her childhood intact,
but while they were busy fighting each other,
it was stolen and she'll never get it back.
She's tried everything to make her life better,
always searching for the next fix.
If food doesn't work she just moves down the ladder.
From liquid courage to herbal remedies,
to depression meds and powder nosebleeds,
nothing can give her back what she's lost.
Always living in anxiety, not able to trust.
And it's sad.
It's heartbreaking, really,
that now she's always looking for something
to numb her feelings.
When she should've been protected,
she should've had a chance.
Instead of hiding as a child
from wandering hands.
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