I made it

At nine years old,
She cried in her room,
Wondering what she did wrong,
Why did he hit her with the broom?

At ten years old,
She sat alone at the table,
Trying to get away from reality,
Reading a fable.

At eleven years old,
She sat in class and did her work,
Trying not to cry from the cruelty,
Why did the mean kids always lurk?

At twelve years old,
She cried on the floor,
Needing to get out,
And making a run for the door.

At thirteen years old,
She became best friends with a razor,
The only thing that made her forget the pain,
The cruelty burning through her heart; like a lazer.

At fourteen years old,
She ran away once more,
Needing an escape from the pain,
That was burning her to the core.

At fifteen years old,
She was left angry and broken,
She needed to get out,
Public school was her token

At sixteen,
She fell in love with her teacher,
She spent the days missing him,
Talking to god like a preacher.

At seventeen years old,
She had already been through so much,
Once again it was her razor blade,
In which she only had left to clutch.

When eighteen came around,
She looked around and said "shit"
And with tears in her eyes; she said three simple words,
"I made it."