Pain wasn’t when I cut my arms and punched myself to catch my breath.
The pain wasn’t when I had to get stitches.
The pain wasn’t when I got hit so hard; I blacked out.
Pain was when I was screaming and pleading
and begging for you to stop.
Pain was when I gave up.
The pain was when I lay there until he was done.
The pain was when I woke up the next morning
and had no memory of the night.
The pain was when I hid what happened from everyone.
The pain was telling my dad what happened.
The pain was watching his anger in his eyes turn to pity.