My Story

Location

towson university
United States
I  swear I get tired of reading that same sad story every time I look in the mirror
My beautiful God given skin now covered in scars
Like braille printed on human flesh because paper would not suffice
as if it’s is not strong enough to hold the type of pain I have endured
So… It cries out as it dies with every horror story I have told
And as pain starts to unravel and lashes out on paper
Its smoothness disappears with its blue lines as tears begin to run down and destroy its composition.
No… it cannot bare thought that such pain exist
So I slit my wrist and bleed out all verbs and adjectives
FUCK PAPER
See I rather use my skin instead
And those scars that are an old color of red are like hieroglyphics written on the walls of ancient temples
Telling a story of a civil war that begun not long ago but has yet to end and a warning
A warning not to read any further because there is a danger lurking in the corners of its shadows ...And that danger is me… was me, see I am no long I...
I was lost at the age eleven and “have you seen this child” posters could not seem to locate the very essence of me
Keep reading …
Trail your fingertips across the back of my self-esteem, it has been whipped and starved for eleven years
and by my twenty second birthday I watched my mother help it commit suicide
Yea I was abused… Some physical more mental
But I rather hide a bruise than fight a broke soul
And no
This does not still go on
And my mother said sorry a thousand times without saying a single word But…
I yearn for understanding
Why did I not deserve a mother’s love, what could I have possibly done to make her heart so cold?
And I now the age of twenty-three, am still a lost child left at the corner of hated and unwanted
No longer looking for a way home… No longer crying out for help and love
I just want this story to end.
So I sit on the edges of my tear ducts and watch the last of me drown in the pool of my own sorrow
I stop reading…
My eyes a watery red but tears do not dare fall as if they are resistant to gravity
because a fallen tear means I will have given in
So I wipe them before a new story begins
And I leave my reflection and dress in long sleeves on this hot summer day
Because I am not ready to say “Mommy can you come sit down with me, I have a story I need you to read”
My story.

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