My father hates me because I look just like my mother. My mother loves me because I look like my father. I just want to live in peace with my father, the beatings, the prison I call a home. Bars on the windows, locks on everything. I've been here all my life, my mom finally got out, I'm here to stay.
The pain stops after awhile, I used to cry, now I just stare at him with my blank eyes. My blank brown eyes, just like my mother's. Sure they're covered with hair, that's just how I hid my bruises. When he started [how long ago that was] he wouldn't stop till I was lieing on the ground crying. He would stare at me like I was the worst pet he ever had. He would usually start by screaming at me, for really no reason at all. He would walk over till we were toe to toe then bring his hand up, swing it across my face, I usually landed on the ground. Then he would pick me up and set me down on the closest thing, usually the couch, he would look at me were my face was turning red. mom would walk in with her head down saying,
"Honey, please stop, take it out on me, not him."
Then he would walk over to her rip off what ever shirt she was wearing, usually a plain tee, and hit her in the stomach, that cost me a few brothers and sisters, then pushed her on the floor. He would walk back over to me and push me off whatever I was sitting on then smiled at me, he would then get down on his knees crying then punched me where ever he wanted. Sometimes I would pass out from the pain.
I would wake up to the sound of my mom screaming or moaning his name. I would cry myself back to sleep, I was five when it started, so I would grab my cheek. Sometimes I would come back with blood mixed with my tears [or were they dad's].
When I would wake back up mom would be right by the bed, looking at me with her blank brown eyes, I would try to get up but would fail miserably fail and she would come over to me and hold me. When I layed my head on her I would try my best not to hit her stomach, she would stroke my hair. My dad would be at work at this time, she would put some makeup on me and we would go out to the store, or what ever he had wanted her to do.
At some point in the store I would cry and the makeup would run making the scars even more visible, she would hug me telling me its all right. People would walk by us, I didn't care, as long as dad didn't surprise us by popping up, we would be fine. I would soon stop, kiss my mom's cheek, she would keep shopping so we could go home. When we got there I would help her put the shit she bought up. Then we would play around, with my hair [that hasn't been cut for months] put more makeup on me. Just try to in-joy our time together, before my monster of a father got home.
Those were the years when mother would smile, seeing me looking like a daughter, that she'd never have. Sometimes I'd just look into her eyes and talk to her, a power we had with each other, we had whole conversations just with looking into each other's voids we call eyes. We would cry, hold each other, then wait for our big monster to come home.
Somedays he wouldn't beat us, others he would. On the days he didn't those were usually the days he was on vacation, we would go to DisneyWorld or land, live, love, and go without beatings. Mother would repay him with sex, I would repay him in kisses and hugs. He smiled on those days, not his scary ones he put on while he beat us, he would hold us close as we walked. Our faces lit up with joy.
I would look up to him his face gleaming, the sun reflecting off his teeth, I would smile and hug his leg. Our faces sunburned, our bruises shone but we didn't care, we wern't getting new ones, that was all we needed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was laughing so hard the tears flow out of his eyes, I look up to him because I have no other chose. I'm lieing here on the floor, beaten and broken for the hundredth time in forever. They have gotten worse since mom died, pain enters my eyes as he laughs. I just stare and wish mom was still here, a few tears fall on me, I wish I could say I was laughing myself but I can't, all can do is wait for him to finish, he is still pouring tears of pure laughter. My gaze leads me to a picture of mom on the mantle above the fire-place. It was a picture of her holding her belly smiling at the camera, before the beatings, seeing this picture reminds me that its my fault. He is still laughing, a tear runs down my eye, he dosn't notice.
Sure I would get up and go cry in my room but I like being on the floor with the dirt. It's where I belong, he agrees. I see he stops laughing, he collapses and falls down. He has been doing this more and more often now, this is my chance to run to my room, I take it.
I run to my room and close it quietly locking the door I run to my bed and pull out a picture of her and look at it, she puts on a fake smile for the camera, I took it, the last one ever taken of her. I cry and rub my hand over the picture, wishing she was here so I would have someone to talk to besides my ceiling. I hear noises in the other room, screaming with a mixture of crying.
I look upon the picture again hearing, and feeling him, take out the rest of his anger. I laugh a little, remembering when i took this picture about four years ago.
A/N I am re-posting this because it reminds me of someone special
