My pretty,

He told me I was pretty. Then he hugged me too close. In the light he was nice to me. The sunshine was his cloak.

He told me I was pretty, so I guess that made it okay. But when he snuck into my bed. I tried to push him away.

He told me I was pretty, but I knew it was a lie. I wanted someone to save me, but I guess they couldn’t hear my cries.

He told me I was pretty, but what did that mean. He said I should’ve felt wanted, that’s what they’ll all believe.

That I thought I was pretty, so I laid in his bed. They’d think I was a liar, and I might as well have been dead.

So as he told me I was pretty, I accepted my fate. I only had three things left: him, a razor and my untimely self-hate.

See my story didn’t end well, but yours always could. Remember you are beautiful, and if you don’t love yourself you should.

Ignore all his pretties and tell someone now. Accept you what makes you strong, this won’t be your only rain cloud.