Before you brown was just a color.
Before you, a pen was just a pen.
Before you, the smell of marshmallows didn't make me gag.
Before you, the galaxy was just the galaxy.
Before you, I hated myself.
Before you, I wore makeup to make myself feel better about how I looked.
Before you, I didn't have a criminal record.
Before you, I trusted my gut when I thought someone lied to me.
Before you, I believed in love.
Before you, it was just aluminum foil.
You took my innocence. But by ripping that out of my chest you left a hole that I had to repair while I crawled my way out of the gutter you left me in.
That cavern was patched up with cement and bricks made of "Go ahead, try to fuck with me." With fire in my eyes and a masochistic twitch in my sly smile.
It was held closed tight with a spiked wrought iron gate chained and welded with "I've walked through the fire and came out unscathed. I fear no hell from you."
It's guarded by my two hellhounds named "I trusted you" and "I loved you."
You took away my innocence, you made it so no one would ever touch that part of my soul again.
But.
As I stand from the gutter and pick trash out of my hair and brush the grime from my legs, there are echos in the cavern in my chest, and it screams
I fucking got this.
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