Don’t.
Don’t tell me I’m
not enough.
Don’t tell me
I’m too tough.
Just stop.
Don’t.

Don’t look at me like
I’m just meat.
Don’t tell me I should
be on the streets.
Just don’t.

Stop
telling me I’m too angry.
I have a right.
You haven’t been there
in the middle
of the night.
Alone.
Scared.
Don’t.

Don’t tell me I shouldn’t hate.
Don’t tell me I should date.
You think I don’t know?
Don’t.
Just go.

Don’t tell me
not to run.
Don’t try and make me
have fun.
What if I can’t?
What if I’ve forgotten?
What if…..?

Don’t.
Don’t tell me
how I should be.
You haven’t seen
this misery.
This pain.
This shame.
I’m damaged goods.
So don’t.

Let me fight.
Let me struggle.
Let me cry.
Let me yell.
I don’t have to be
perfect.
Can’t you tell?
I’m not.
I never will be.
So don’t.

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