I was young.

Naive.

Too young to know any better.

He told me it was a trade—

you do something for me,

and I’ll do something for you.

It sounded good in the moment  

But the truth sounded more like this:

Do it, or I will make your life worse.

So I did.

As one would who didnt know her worth

Not once.

Not twice.

But enough times

that my mind learned how to disappear.

I don’t remember the first moment—

but I do rember the pattern of it,

how it always unfolded the same way,

how fear became routine.

You can never tell anyone,

he said.

And somehow,

that command still echoes,

because to this day,

no one knows.

I am older now,

but some part of me

still listens

like I am eight years old again.