People have started to notice. 

I look sad. Depressed, even. 

Which prompts them to ask the dreaded question: 

“Are you okay?” 

I always reply with: 

“Yeah.” 

Or “I’m okay.” 

Or “I’m fine.” 

But those are lies. 

I am not okay. I am not fine. 

I need help. And I need it now. 

I can’t get it though.

They say to talk to the guidance counselors. 

Lets be serious. I am not talking to them.

Little does everyone know that I am abused. 

Both physically and mentally. 

At home, my siblings beat on me. 

I had to defend myself against my brother 

because he was punching me.

I can’t fight back without my parents getting onto me. 

“He’s younger than you, Elle!”

“You can’t hit people, Elle!”

And so on. So I just try to block them. 

And hope that they don’t leave my arms bruised. 

They don’t realize that they’re

also abusing me mentally. 

“You’re a brat.”

“I don’t like your attitude.”

“Who do you think you are?”

They insult me. 

“Nerd.”

“Loser.”

They yell at me and call me names. 

And then when I try to defend myself:

“Don’t talk back to me, young lady!”

How am I supposed to be happy 

when I live like this? 

How can I be positive

when I go home to this? 

I read this thing the other day. 

People who have been abused 

always say that someone has it worse than them. 

And that’s true. 

Because there are so many people that have it 

worse than me. 

My parents like to point that out. 

So I believe it. 

So I’ve made an agreement with myself. 

Instead of trying to help me, 

which is hopeless,

I’m going to try to help others that have it like me 

or worse. 

But I will forever reply to your questions of how 

I’m doing with “I’m fine” or “I’m okay.”

Because no one would believe the truth if I told them.