For the little girl who cried on the floor,
Who hurt so much she felt no love at all,
She thought she wanted to die that cold day,
Who felt so unheard by her family.
For the teenager who dressed in all black,
Who wore the same two hoodies the whole year,
She was blamed and told it was all her fault,
Who hurt herself just to soothe the numbness.
For me who writes poems to speak my hurt,
Who scrubs my skin red raw in the shower,
She is me who is afraid of trusting,
Who was hurt long ago but feels pain still.
For me and all other hurt little girls,
I will speak loud I will not be silent.