Seven.
The number of luck.
Seven days, seven seas, seven colors on the rainbow.
Seven notes on a musical scale.
But for me, seven is the number of misfortune.
Age Seven.
Seven hits placed to my body, seven reasons why.
The abuse started here and thats where my sanity lyes.
From that point on it vanished into thin air
and was replaced by depression and a mess of despair.
Age eight.
Running away, hiding out late.
My vulnerable, little, body such an easy bait.
Age nine.
What a prime time, everyday I saw that sly grin.
Every day I grew uncomfortable.
Every day I kept it all in.
Age ten.
A new abuse begins.
A game for you and all your friends
I felt your bodies touch me again and again and again.
Age ten.
Age ten.
Age ten.
Age eleven.
Heaven? Can you still go for suicide?
Will this god except my instability and the cause for my demise.
Age twelve.
As I yelled for help the fate of me got worst and worst
More cynical, he got, with every blow
I had nowhere, no place to go.
Age thirteen.
Numb.
Age fourteen.
Back and forth to the devils chamber.
Back and forth to hell.
I still must deal with this?
I'm only a little girl.
Age fifteen.
Age fifteen.
Age fifteen.
Self destruction, a walking tragedy.
Just one more pill and death will take it all from me.
Just one more slit and i'll lye here and bleed.
Just one more second of lying under the water and it'll get really hard to breathe.
Age fifteen.
Oh, I'm not done yet.
Psychiatrists
Psychologists
Large circles of people in a group setting
"My name is Robin and I uh...I'm here because I uh..."
Prescriptions.
Another and another.
It'll make you feel better.
It'll steady out your mood
Oh, but take them with food.
I don't eat.
Age sixteen.
A treacherous mountain I climbed for a year.
Dodging rivers of urges and boulders of fear.
As I got to the top, I swiftly tumbled down,
and there I laid, again, on the cold, hard, ground.
Age seventeen.
Relapse.
Age seventeen.
Why?
Age seventeen.
Age seventeen.
