Every word I've ever had swallowed sits like a stone in my stomach, because silence is my best asset.

For every word I've had to repress, every memory that haunts my brain, every panic attack I've had to sit through during a class sprung because something reminded me of you. You knew I would never talk about it because a single whip against your back would've resulted in a thousand against my skin. You left bruises and what felt like a collapsed lung, I couldn't breathe. But you knew it would stop my screams.

My rib was midnight for weeks.

I saw family bloody and bruised and they never asked.

I didn't want them to ask, because then I would have acknowledged that you happened. That you violated me. That you are real, a person and that you're a person who didn't see me as a person, just meat.

Don't you have mothers or sisters or a woman in your life? Every woman is an "item" until it's your mother. Every girl is an "item" until it's your sister. Every woman is meat to you regardless if they fight back.