I’m trapped in this house they all call home. Trapped by the fence, and by the yard, sitting on the front porch looking at the other teens wishing it could be me but it’s not because I am trapped. Sitting in my room depressed. They think it’s stress, anxiety maybe? But no. I’m just trapped. Trapped by my mind, and the scars on my thighs, I’m trapped by the lies I hold inside. If I even try to go beyond this black fence I am met with a series of questions. Where are you going? Who will you be with? How did you meet him? Oh, you think he’s sweet? Well your opinion doesn’t matter; your opinion is wrong. But no, it’s not my opinion is never wrong. The things I say have meaning. I’m tired of words spewing from their mouths just because they aren’t thinking. They forget I am not a little girl, I can protect myself from the bad in the world. I have before and I’ll continue to do it on my own. How am I supposed to learn if I can’t make mistakes?