My trauma is not mine.

I’m learning right from wrong.

I’m learning politeness from subservience.

You took my life before I ever had the urge to.

I weighted my decisions with the force you taught me was pleasure.

I measured my worth by how much of your damage I could overcome.

My body is not your birthright.

My trauma is not mine.

How many years is too many to spend in a haze, not moving forward, allowing your body to be treated in a way that you thought was just accompany to your gender.

You live, feel, and adventure, you think you’ve grown. Then, you stop. You’re forced to face things, to acknowledge your adventure was just a sprint from the responsibility of healing. 

I’m getting older now. My brain is a mess, my body is a war zone. 

I don’t know how to be in love, but I know how to love myself now.

Is this the price for your need to take my innocence? Solitude?