Walls and such.

He didn't really do anything wrong. Not really.
Except for maybe choosing to not to anything wrong with me.
The girl who can't trust worth shit and convinced myself that,
at fourteen, even when I said no it wasn't rape because he's your seventeen-year-old boyfriend, which makes it okay.
I'm the girl who's more scars than skin in some places.


It's funny, the first guy I decide to give a crumb of my heart to in two and a half years is the one that's catching shit because of my past.

Why am I so fucked up? Did I do it to myself? Probably. I guess maybe I deserved it.
Whatever.