scratch it all away

Sometimes I think I'm the girl that fucked you over. I've done it to so many people that it's hard to understand the lines between where I end and evil starts.

I'm attractive. Perhaps too attractive. When I was sixteen my father sexually assaulted me and made me pregnant. I miscarried before I told anybody what happened. It's lucky I did, or else I wouldn't be living with my mother now. There are some things that are hard to tell yourself or other people.

I find it hard to hold down relationships now. The intimacy doesn't work with me. I do try though and that's always how it starts. The evil, I mean. It starts when I try to be close to anyone.

I'm getting ahead of myself again. I try very hard to look good. I work out, I run every day, I eat well, I preen myself every morning and night. Somehow, I still don't feel beautiful. I know I might be. I just don't feel it. I haven't for a while.

I wouldn't say I'm smart, but I'm well educated. It's something I did myself. I dropped out of school at eighteen, but spending hours by yourself in a room with nothing but books keeps you sharp. I eventually studied law formally and now lead what could resemble a normal life. It's not really, though.

You'll approach me for my looks, but you'll love me for my mind. I've had that happen a lot. I have a quick turnover when it comes to relationships.

You can only get so far with me. I do try, I really do - to be close to you. But as soon as you touch my heart, you'll find it's made of knives. I don't know how to turn it off. I do love you, but the love I give isn't right. I will hurt you. I'll be unfaithful as soon as I start to love you. I'll lie to you as soon as I'm completely open with you. I'll cut you off exactly when I need you to be there. I have to hurt you.

I'll act like I don't care. I'm not sure if that's part of me being denying what I am, or part of me trying to make you get over me. It doesn't matter. I can't dwell on myself for too long without crying.

I just want you to heal my wounds so I can pick at them again. I feel I deserve it. The fact you don't deserve it eludes me at the wrong times. I am in the wrong and this post is my excuse. It's pathetic really, but that's the way things are going for me right now.

I won't warn you. I know what I'm like, but I can't let you or I know what I'm like until it's too late. Because who knows? Next time it might be different.

Maybe one day, I'll look into your eyes and see nothing except you.

Then you'll be safe.