Another statistic?

Another teenage girl spends
her time locked in her room.
Wiping tears from her eyes
while damning the whole world.

She refuses to look at her
reflection in the mirror.
Afraid to see.

There are bruises in her memory
and not engraved on her skin.
Memories that make her want
to collapse and shun herself.

She has bite marks on
her tongue from the words
she didn’t say.

To most people, she’s just
another statistic in a world of facts.
Where people just see her
as another number.
Not a pretty face.

And where strangers
swear that the same thing
would never happen.

She’s got scars on her heart.
She’s numb and nervous.
She’s just another statistic.

She was me.

*A friend of mine asked if I was intrested in anything that would help me get rid of some of this hurt. For me: This is about the past sexual assault (not rape) that I went through because of an ex. It could mean naything for you*