Stolen Innocence leads to Depression (A Slam Poem)

I'm a depressed person.
I know that.
You know that.
The dirt knows that.
But have you ever thought about
maybe WHY someone can be so depressed?
And I'm talking about REAL thoughts,
Not the kind you get when you want to pretend that you care.

You know,
The reason people say, "I'm good. No, really, its okay,"
is to test others.
The want to see who cares.
The want to know they matter.
I want to know I matter.
I cling to people I think will care.
I cling to them like if I let go, I'll die.
I don't know why.
Maybe I know what its like to be used
By someone you're supposed to trust
To not take advantage of your young mind, your young....body.

Yet, it happened anyway.

I imagine revenge all the time.
I imagine being able to go back in time, stopping it the source.
I imagine storming into the room, grabbing him by the neck, and yanking him away from my naive, four-year-old self, watching the horror and surprise in my own eyes.
I slam him into the wall across the room, still holding him by his neck.
I scream into his face, screaming at him about all the pain he has caused, all the wounds that marked me, whether my skin or my soul.
As I finish, I slump to the floor, sobbing from my heart's very core.
I can feel my own eyes boring into my back, my four-year-old self shaking in fear and confusion of what just had occurred.
Until I appeared, she hadn't known that his sick man, supposed to be my cousin, was supposed to protect and love her, not use her for his sick fantasies!

But...I know that'll never happen.
So I sit here, dreaming, coping.
Trying not to die of despair.
I want hope. I NEED it.
But, it isn't there.
YET.