I write for the little girl who woke up many times, but wished she stayed asleep. For the little girl who was internally abused by a man who was supposed to love her unconditionally. For the little girl who found it hard coming home to a father who threatens to disown her, calls her a slut, and verbally abuses her mother. For the little girl who had to witness her mother cry herself to sleep, because she spent her rent money to buy them dinner for that night. For the little girl who had to deal with her mom throwing up blood, but couldn’t do anything because they were not insured.
“But did you know mankind falls into 3 classes, those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.” And that little girl falls into the class that moves. She moves by using education as her method of crying out for help. She moves by refusing to sell her soul to the depths of poverty. She moves by surviving.
I write for that little girl, because that little girl is me.