There was a girl whose comfort shape was circles and round edges,
She loved them so much she loved a boy with circular glasses.
She assumed since much like circles, he wouldn't hurt her, he wouldn't leave.
He was a boy of sharp bones, and a twisted spine. Much like his disturbed mind.
She was blinded by his circular eyes, and couldn't see the blaring warning signs.
He was long in his legs, and short all ways around,
His mother christian born and raised, hated her with a cursing gaze.
There were always a multitude of judging siblings following the suite.
She believed his lies, in hope of finding her much falsified "one".
She hoped he wouldn't be much like the others, who would shut her down with words alike.
"Monster."
She ignored his loosely kept promises.
He was swift in his ways, but messy.
He always left loose ends behind, but would exterminate them with words of "encouragement."
He'd sweep them into welcoming a place much unknown, death.
One day, he changed.
He lost his will to keep himself off of her,
That little girl learned how to scream once again.
She screamed, she cried, she bit, and hit him to get him off.
He hit her with a nice, stabby rock.
She loved rocks, she loved to collect them.
Their unique qualities and diversities attracted her.
She loved how special they could appear with a singular drop of water on their polished or damaged surface.
She loved to see how they could withstand the pressures of the world,
To learn how to adapt.
She loved him so, she gave him her most favorite rocks.
He never gave them back.
Years before, she had made a little tea box full of flowers made from the darkest times in her life.
She saw him hide her precious gifts from her, with the intent of never returning them to their proper owner.
She showed her vulnerable side.
She showed her art and her personalities alike.
She gave him everything, and watched as he threw it away so easily.
She learned much before him, and after.
She learned to love roses, the thorny kind.
The kind that could prick someone when they least expected it,
The kind that could make someone subtly bleed.
The kind to inject deadly poisons into someone.
She learned to bleed easily.
She learned that long ago, she could not love the color blue,
Because it was reserved for a sex that was not hers.
She learned from someone who taught her firsthand what it felt like to be back-stabbed,
That she could not love the color pink.
She learned to love the color purpose, because it signified loyalty. The only thing she was worth.
At the ripened age of six, she learned what life was truly about.
At the unfortunate age of ten, she learned how to let go and cry silently.
In her years of junior high, she met people who taught her to be herself, to express herself.
Throughout those three years of odd plague and sickness, she was loud, proud, and innocent once more.
But there they came again, the people would shroud her in a burning cloud of doubt,
And the cursing hatred for herself.
"Why must I continue, why must I talk so much, they never cared, all they want is a little girl's body."
That little girl's body is barely developed, her breasts are not plump, her arse is not bulging with grace,
Her hips are not aligned perfectly, she can barely fill herself with proper nutrients without worrying what her friends and family may think of her weight.
She is a little girl with a twist and curl in her spine, she has always been called a monster, the devil.
She has been accused of things, time and time again, that she had never knew existed.
She learned to listen, to collect information, and to remember things about certain people.
She is barren alone in her own mind, she barely functions, and seeks the release of the unknown.
