“Get over them.”
It was 2 years ago.
it was a year ago.
it was 7 years ago.
It was last month
it was 10 years ago.
It was yesterday.

but they always find me.

they’re hands cant find mine,
but they can find my wrist.
my hips,
my thighs, 
my throat,
my chest,
my pants.

I still cant wear that fucking skirt. 
My favorite skirt.
it sits in my drawer
wanted,
but hated.

The words that have fallen from their mouth.
“faggot”
“slut”
“bitch”
follow me around like a demon pretend to be my guardian angel.

The actions that they can’t undo.
The places they’ve smacked,
my body they’ve thrown.

All for being me.
All for trying to show kindness.

I deserve sunshine.