Work Text:
A boy called freak, fed only scraps.
He tried so hard to be okay.
And yet, and yet, every touch brought the memories, every closet door brought the fear.
Who could blame him? All he’d ever known was hatred, and everyone waned him to be perfect. To be sane.
He couldn’t fit their mold, so they tossed him aside. He burned with hatred.
His mind fragmented all the more, everyone was an enemy.
Should have seen it coming, he told them, with a grin that was all teeth.
Your beloved leader made me a victim, he taunts them, but you all created the monster.
Your fault, your fault, he chants, the words falling just as easily as the curses.
I’m not okay, the boy called freak yells, I’m not sane. You should have run when you had the chance!
Abuse doesn’t just go away!