Worthy

Part your feet and cross your legs when you sit. Sit up straight with shoulders high to show you are not a flower to be plucked from the rosebed; but he will pluck you anyways and with your thorns, he will feel the regret in his chest. Your skin will rot and decay with every touch, leaving you without worth.

Your purity and beauty, stolen from you before you could revel in it. How can we be expected to build up what was never there long enough for us to feel.

Don't look in their eyes, they know. They know your impurity. They whisper words like snakes, whose venomous tongues flick at you as you walk down the corridor with tears down your cheeks feeling like you can't protect your own name.