I was never the type to express my emotions properly. I kept them in a bottle shoved inside a deep ocean locked away inside my chest. It never got any better the first time a family member touched me with burning hands, leaving dark blue patches across my chest. I thought it would be best that my sister get all attention. No one knew i was a victim. They surrounded her with care and love, something i never got. The pain went away for a while, until the burning touch of another family members hands kissed my fragile skin. No one believed me, and everyone thought i was faking it. My entire family disowned me, cast me out. I was stalked and watched like a vulture hunting its prey. They hated me. They despised me. I wanted to run away, to hide my shame from the world and never look back. But I couldn't. I was entrapped in it's jailcell, hands clasped around my neck like it wanted me dead. I was only able to escape from myself by drawing, the lines of the pencil marking the days there were until I died. I hate it here, no one truly loves me. All they ever asked for was help, and money and advice..two people stood out. The third burning his image like a match into my brain, his hands violently choking me until i saw stars. "I want my mom." I thought. "She will take me away from here."
Mother never came. She was dead, and my grandmother was a whiles away from my town. I wished and longed for the day i could cry in her arms again, to be held by rough wrinkly fingers that would rub my head as i cried. But no one cares. No one cares that i wish for death, that i wish i had a better life and had never ever trusted anyone. Trust has been a broken time piece that constantly rehearsed itself inside my feeble mind, it's grip tight like it wants me to die. The thoughts that race through my mind are never my own. They are of a three year old girl who desperately wishes to grow up to be a doctor...
