an island of me

I am way past angry.

I am way past hungry for revenge.

I am way past grieving the loss of my innocence, my childlike wonder.

I am nothing but nothing now.

I am way past screaming at myself in the mirror.

I am way past denial.

I am way past blaming myself for the things I could never control in the first place.

I am nothing but nothing now.

I am nothing but empty.

I am an island of me, surrounded by the emptiness you filled me to the brim with the second you made decisions about my body without my consent.

I am nothing but nothing now, but at least you don’t feel like everything.