Tattletale

If I told on you, would the world be more willing to forgive me for being this way?

If I named every way you damaged me, would they see the sad girl begging for someone to just be kind?

To love her?

To keep her safe?

If I wrote out every shame you forced in me, would they see the pain woven into my smiles? Or the strength it takes to hold on?

If I listed the ways you destroyed my mind, would they understand the depth I can feel, or appreciate my ability to still beleive in magic and the fairies that never saved me.

But I won’t, because even if it changed the way the world looked at me…

They’d have to see all of me.

They’d see all the shame, and agony of being too small to help myself…

and the thing I hate more then their disdain, is their empty pitty.