A pretty Girl.

People see what they want.

A pretty girl. Nice smile, an even better ass.

Everyone wants to touch me.

And I hate it.

I hate it when I get harassed. I hate it when men stare. I hate it when women stare.

I hate it. I hate myself for this attention. When will I be left in peace?

And people don’t understand. People don’t understand, how could a pretty girl be upset?

Enjoy it. Relax in it. Take advantage of it.

When guys follow you home. When guys force themselves on you. When guys find a way to weasel in your home to watch you shower.
When house guests take you out for your birthday then barge into your room naked. You’re right. I should fucking enjoy it. I should fucking live for it.

I should fucking relax. I should fucking take advantage of it.

I see the nastiest come out of men and women. Pastors, married men, the men with perfect reputation, you would never believe. I see the worst.  All trying to get me alone. Staring at my tits though my bikini. Fuck you and fuck them.

I’m disgusted with myself. I’m grossed out by the attention. And tell me, how am I supposed to find the difference between a proper man versus a prick when they are all presenting themselves to me. Stay. Away. All.

And guess who gets blamed for starting it. I do. Women, wives, organizations, can’t come to terms with who they let in. The pig always turns out to me. The pretty girl is a whore. The pretty girl wanted it to happen. The pretty girl wanted to be touched. Why would she dress that way? When I was taken advantage of, I was wearing jeans, a long sleeve, and a fucking coat. I SAID NO. I SHOUTED NO.

And guess whose fault it was. Mine.

And guess who had to heal. ME.

Guess who had to walk through it all, every single time, me.

If I could mar my body, I would.