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.