This is peotry, a story, this is therapy

(You know its bad when you can't put your thoughts down because you're scared you'll be laughed at.)
I was only 7 when it all went down. A year of silence while it was going down. Seven more after that.
Suicidal thoughts in third grade. Self harm in seventh. Telling your mother at the fair because she saw
the slashes. Watching her break down in tears as the dots connect. You remember her badgering
if they touched you but that's not what they did. that was the only thing I knew at the time.
After you tell your mother she tells everyone. Your father, stepmother, your school, and siblings.
When your father comes to talk about it he accuses you of lying which breaks your heart in two. He
threatens to take you to get checked which makes you feel like a criminal. A criminal for coming home
in jeans and T-shirts, to be swept off your feet, taken to your room, and raped. 
The school counselor calls you in.  She wants you to write down you're experience but your mother says
it only makes you relive it so you dismiss it but talking about it is the best therapy. But how do you bring
such a subject up to talk about it. Simple answer, you don't. You bottle it up until you explode in tears
and your experience pours out.
Don't be like me and bottle it up until you explode. Write poems, songs, stories, anything.
Trust me it feels good to get it off your chest.