I will never be strong enough.

Sure, that's a lot to say,

It's a lot to assume too,

But it's more than just assumption when you do the things I do.

When being bullied, I stand there in reverence, bowing to those who've hurt me.

I laugh, or shrug, pretend that none of it really bothers me.

Of course, it's all a lie, it's my disguise I'm really not alive, just living.

It's not injurious, I'll tell you, they didn't mean it, I will always stand up for those who've pointed guns at my head.

It was an accident, it's not their fault.

"please, don't get involved."

"I don't need your help."

"I'm okay, i promise."

"Nothing's wrong."

Oh my God, it's all wrong.

They hunt for me like prey, I can't make them go away.

They follow me into washrooms where they know I hide and stay.

They whisper things, sick things, words that make me go mute.

Push me, bite me, scratch and claw until they break through.

Past my skin and through my heart, tear and tear and Rip me apart.

I am not a person, I am an object.

I deserved it, I am worthless.

I didn't want to talk about it.

They left me there on the floor.

I cried and cried until I could cry no more.

The bell rang and I bolted out the door to the corridor and into the class to which I didn't want to be in.

A place where people could see it.

My face red and eyes damp and bloodshot.

Chin bruised and neck marked in red slashes from their nails, most of them barely visible.

Bruises that line up and down my back.

Claw marks on my legs.

Cuts inside my lip.

I begged them to stop, I swear I did.

But I wasn't strong enough.

I couldn't get them to turn away.

I wasn't brave enough to run out and say-

So after I was alone and everything went silent, I told myself I would've been in the wrong state of mind if I had went violent.

I went to where I was supposed to be, afraid of anybody touching me.

I feel disgusting, I truly do.

Maybe it would help if I took a shower or two.

Or seven or ten.

I'm afraid this anxiety will never end.

I fear the school and all my friends.

It's love within hate and fear within trust.

And at this point giving up nearly feels like a must.

But I promised, I'd keep on trying, so I will, even though I'd wish I'd been dying.

I wish they'd slashed my throat instead.

I wish they would've committed my end, but that wouldn't have aided them much, now would it of.

I'm afraid I've gone all to far, and now I'm scared to even leave my bedroom door open ajar.

I'll never be strong enough.

Ariah Christman