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Haïti, Un Pays Kidnappé Haïti Est un pays Kidnappé, il y a belle lurette
I signed my soul away with a 21st century John Hancock, To get rid of stubborn, ages old writer’s block. And now these trembling hands they do mock, At my crooked fingers and smudged fingerprints they gawk.
I was three the first time i remember
lay on my bed crying until I had nothing left.
Here's what I do remember about this particular rape.
I didn't want to, but I picked the glass up and took a sip.It was horrible and I told my father there was no way I could get this terrible tasting st
One day when I was 13 and in the 8th grade, I had gotten the stomache flu and had to stay home from school.
My father took his trusty knife, wrapped her hands around it and they slit that rabbits throat without a sound.
I started feeling really dizzy and nauseous and was crying so badly, I could barely see nor breath through the tears.
I don't remember what set this next incident off with my father, I just remember it was one of the things that showed me just how much of a psyco nut
Coming back from the dead was always a terrifying experience for me. I hated it almost as much as the dying.
I remember wondering if my father could hear my heart pounding, then realized it didn't matter.
Have you ever been in an accident or so near death that at that very moment, you thought your life was over?
hello daddy !
people tend prey on the weak ones as much as they hate to confess.
You made who I am today and for that I hate you You made me see what others couldn’t dream You made me think I was nothing You made me sell coke every night
I close my eyes, and understand, The only way a child can, To be beaten down with soap, and socks, I beg forgiveness, the paradox.
shut them out, as I suffer to breathe Where are the words? Can we talk instead of scream? My opinion remains unheard The violent escapade on the frigid ground, I laid he charged at me,
He'll soon see Through your ways And finally know What I know You'll try and tell him it's ok And put on that phony show You'll make him believe it's all his fault
Father, don’t I look pretty? My mouth is sore and my tongue is gone. All I have is anger and love and I have smeared it on my lips and cheeks for you.
Left and right you hear people mumble your name. That feeling like everyone is staring at you. You know what happened is totally out of your hands, but still you feel guilty,