I know myself
as one of the used,
scars abound,
tissues bruised.
I leave the wounds
and let them bleed;
I let guys use me
to fill their need.
Some need love,
and others, lust.
Some want friendship,
others, trust.
But some leave cuts
that slowly heal.
I wish I knew
just how to deal.
The Used [poem]
Larissa Lee 