I am not a victim.
We don't like to admit the bad things. Sweep it under the rug and kick it in the head when it starts to squirm. Pretend like nothing happened. One in four knew the perpetrator before hand. I try to pretend I'm stronger than I really am. You'd be amazed how much you can hide behind straight A's and a smile. When you flinch, blame it on something simple, harmless.
You can't hide your problems under the mat forever. Eventually, when you're not looking they spring up and scare you. It's hard to act like nothing is wrong when your heart is exploding on the inside. Fight it, push it down, back under the rug you go. Thunk.
Its funny how its the little things that shove your heart into your throat. Its funny how something so foreign reminds you of the lump under the rug. I didn't know her, our experiences were completely different. But out of the corner of my eye I see the lump stirring.
And then you're afraid. Avoid it until the fear turns into a dull ache. Then, pretend like you don't feel it. I am a survivor. Keep the same routine; robot around like nothing is the matter. Robots don't cry. Robots have laser beams, they aren't afraid of shit.
As my heart turns to clockwork, and my eyes glow red from the inside, life seems bearable again. I keep giving my heart away, and I keep getting it back in pieces. This time, I didn't get it back at all. Clockwork hearts feel no pain. Wind them up, watch them tick. Clockwork hearts don't love.
Robot me watches the lump under the rug. It stirs, wishing, waiting, wanting to come out to play. Just because you said yes, didn't mean it was what you wanted. I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people.
My clockwork heart is winding down. With the lump under the rug scooting to find an escape, why wind it back up?
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