Edward Estlin Cummings a famous poet, William Pen a quaker the president Eisenhower and Usher a famous singer were all born on this day.  And so was I.

On October 14 1066, King Harold of England was shot in the eye and killed at the Battle of Hastings.  On October 14 1989 I had a birthday party with a

homemade birthday cake my granny made from vanilla cake and yummy frosting that I am convinced was made from every bit of all the love she had in her

fingertips especially for just me.  I remember birthday parties through cake.  I remember getting a bicycle my brother made for from the spare parts he

found.

Someone once said whatever it isit couldn't have been that awful and if it was grow from it or just fucking burn it. Memories forgotten of times past.

October 14, 1989 I hear momma and her yelling.  I don't want her.   Take her please.  I hate it.  Everyday she gets older makes me older.  Crawling in a

corner sobbing from the old news wondering who is my mommy.  She takes my hand as I crawl under the bed Samantha my new friend leaves me when someone walks

in the room.  Im not wanted not loved. Staying under the bed till morning nobody looks for me.  The party is over and everyone is gone.  Ive been forgotten

breakfast was served and left on the counter.  Tiptoing through the smaill onebedroom trailer looking down trails of blood leading to the bathroom  there she

is lying on the floor.  Blood covers her body her breathing shallow wrist sliced straight down the middle.  Towels and bounds of towels just don't cover the

mess.  Not finding the phone only because she hid it.  Running next door covered in someone elses blood she lives to see another day.  Unfinished...