Walked, Trampled, and Stomped On

I let people walk over me like the rug i thought i was, flat and faced down on the cold floor, where no one can see, the pain and hurt brewing underneath. I let people trample my soul like the dirt on the ground, dry, cracked without a life source to live, desperately trying to find, that something to help it live. I let people stomp on my dreams like they do concrete, hard and fast in a blink of time, without remorde for the feelings, nor sympathy for my hope. Oh, why do i let people walk, trample and stomp on me, is it because i haven't found the voice i need to speak for myself, or is it because i am too scared to just be me, maybe it is because i can't find the fight inside to fight to walk, trample, and stomp on them.