Dear Bully,
I went home with bruises.
My parents asked about it.
I didn't say.
I didn't want to be a snitch.
I didn't want to be a little bitch.
I went to my room.
I sat and stared at my wrist.
I was tempted to cut.
But I stayed resistant.
I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of seeing my scarred wrists.
But it was getting to me.
Happy now?
YOU ARE READING
Dear Bully,
Non-FictionYou told me I wasn't worth anything. "I Believe You." You broke me. Now I can't even stand to look at myself. What have you done? I Hate Myself. Happy Now?
