He’s packing, mom is crying. He rushes in and out the room.
Mumbling as if I don’t hear. I guess they think I’m still little to know what is happening. He’s leaving forever. 
“I want to kill myself, everything is my fault” says mom.

Broken Mirror
I can’t seem to get a reflection of myself. Is it really the mirror or is it just me?
Hair in a bun looks like a million little pieces. Watery eyes and smile that reaches ear to ear. Glow face with a hint of confusion. I look up and don't see myself no longer. Long hair nice eyes but and an I don’t care face. I hear a voice that tells me
“You would become the women in back of the BROKEN mirror”.
I quickly drop as my heart is about to jump out my mouth. I stand there trembling. “I will never be that women”, my mother.
Beating, crying, anger.
Only the broken wall understands me. Torn, empty, speechless. No one to hear me. No one I can run to. Tears don't even gush out my eyes anymore. I just feel cold. Broken mirror just like this family. Broken walls just like the one you destroyed beating me. Cold when you told me you hated me. I'm dissolving. I’m drowning but refuse to swim. Sometimes dying isn't an option but more of a choice.
Dinner Table
There it was the empty table. Alight brown that seemed to sparkle. No one has sat there for years. Not once. Table looks brand as new. Chairs polish, shiny. There stood the fake roses in the middle. That’s where my family stood. A fake rose. A red fake rose. FAKE LOVE! No one dare to sit there. Our family was never united. Couldn't just sit there and talk.  I asked mom
“Why don't we sit here”?
She stood there with a black pencil skirt and a blue button down shirt, looked at me and walked away. So I sat there. Dragged the chair and behind it came the squeakiest noise.  She quickly ran out her room and told me “B**** did I tell you can sit there”?
“You never told me I couldn't sit here” I replied. Pushing the chair where it stood there for years and said well now I’m telling you, and stop eating you look fat”. Hunger and starvation. I stood there. For days, weeks even months. Suffered. Not just only she made me feel worse about myself than I already was but there was never food. I open the refrigerator with hope I’ll find something and there it was NOTHING.
City Lights
Alone, runaway, afraid.
The city lights remind me of those old days. I use to sit outside and play with friends that were my age. Late night like these were the city looks alive, in 7k were fights, arguments, and fear. Taken away from somewhere you were comfortable. Where you felt free. Not worrying about the problems that are waiting for you at home. You’re their sitting in the pier. The waves gently move. Lights brightened the silver bench. Gently as the water swooshes and reminds me what might be going on at home. I just think to myself, “who am I?” Indivisible, not noticed at home. Taxis beeping people talking loud. Reminds me of home. At least here I can just escape what is going on at home. Have you ever seen that movie where someone runs away and never were found that's how I want to be, “LOST”.

Never Home
Growing up in an home where mom is never their and grandma is taking care of you. Parties to parties and once again she forgot. She forgot she got kids waiting for her. Her Favorite red dress that reached her knees, black long heels. Her nails bloody orange. I’ll sit there next to her in the furry toilet seat and said “Mom where are you going, can you take me with you?” With the most innocent eyes that would buy anyone. And again she would reply, “I’m going to do a deligencia” (something important) as she put foundation in her pimples, and the light red eye shadow I played with when I was bored. When she finished she would walk out the door that had a ball full of water that came down from the neighbors upstairs, without a single “bye”. Calls back to back and they wasn't any answering. If I was lucky I would get a call back. I would get so excited. Jump up and down as my sister said “oh you're stupid mother decided to call back” I felt the frustration she had. She was only fourteen taking care of two girls at midnight.
“Mom when are you coming?” I asked. She replies to me with something I have never expected to hear in my life, “don't worry about me, what I do is none of your business”
“but you're my mom” I replied. It was quiet, no reply. She hanged up on me. Again. You barely see your mother, now you call grandma, mom. Three kids mom had to maintain. Single women with three young little girls. Still doesn't give her a reason to be a bad mother. A women who didn't care if her child ate. Never really put in her priority to help her child in school work. Had to learn it myself. I depended on myself. Long nights when I need most help in school work mom left (everyday) I will sit in the bathroom floor where no one would hear me or see me cry. I thought about the same math problem 9*8. I wasn't even thinking unto my mother popped in my head and remembered I had to do a two page report about my feelings. I started writing about my mother and how cruel she is and how she would leave me helpless on days I need most help. I started to cry but not of sadness but of anger. I had my own back since no one who I cared about had me. I was never important. I’m worth nothing.

The Same
I’m the same. She’s the same. We are the same. I even feel worse nothing has changed. Mom is the same B%#!
Up to this day I’m empty. She didn't destroy my body but she killed my soul. It was cold. My mom fleshes me. Had to take care of myself and fake a smile every day. So people would just think I’m perfect Noemy. But I’m not. I’m worthless. And I,
I am an old ship at the bottom of the sea, lost, abandoned, but full of memories.

Scars
It’s quiet. No one’s home but me. Quickly, quietly the door opens. No need for light. I need dark. The way of the ink I’m writing with. Tears gushed out my eyes like stones. Slowly dying inside that feeling the one in the pit of my stomach. So constant it makes me sick and makes me want to crawl under a rock and close my eyes for the final time. I want to stop caring at all. Is it so hard to give up? Life taught me to die so it’s not hard to fall. Cuts after cuts, but that’s not enough. The need for more. Blood trickle down my arms a special little secret, no one knows. Body curled up in to a ball unwrap able, smooth as fur but impenetrable inside.
Doctors Office
That moment when you watch hour after hour knowing your mom is going to pick you up from school. I made an announcement to my friends about me leaving early.
Every time the phone rang my heart jumps out. That moment you start to shiver in days that are below zero. That one call you have been waiting on the whole day. That look my teacher gives me I already felt the news without her speaking.
“You’re leaving Noemy”
“Oh”
“Do you know why”?
“Doctors appointment”
“Good luck sweetie.”
I run down stairs like if someone was chasing me. That word “sweetie” stuck to me. The love my teacher has for me, the one my mother never showed me. The smallest word made a big effect on me. It was like drinking a hot chocolate with melted marshmallows and ends feelings good. So we get there. Kind of upset that missed out in my ela class. I was actually enjoying writing about my book, it’s a brain reliever.
There I walked up to my doctor’s office. Not knowing if I was happy I got out of school early, scared not wanting to get a shot or worst answering questions.
“Hey, Noemy Santana how is you today?”
“Good I guess”
“Just a couple of questions”
“Ok”
“Do you often feel sad, have you been depressed lately, do you fear something?”
I sit there. Silence filled the room I can hear the baby crying half way down the hall. Not knowing if I should answer these questions. I want to so badly but mom is there. The Doctor tilts her head and starts typing in the black dell computer. She’s probably writing how long it takes me to answer a simple question. Her blue eyes stare right at me and she turns around and continues writing. I’m too distracted on how beautiful her blonde hair looks. I decided to speak and not make this more awkward.
“No”
“Good I’ll be back in a second.” Her black dressed hit my arms and I think the fabric in her dress just gave me sneeze.
Yes I often do feel sad, yes I been depressed lately and absolutely I fear, I fear answering these questions because I don't know what you can do with my answers. I do fear of the dark because I feel like a monster is going to attack me.
Who is the monster?
My MOTHER.

Santana
There is a difference in my last name. Not NOEMY. Its Santana. The one who smiles every day. The real smile. My father always had told me “smile even though you're down.” Thats me. Today I have realized that when I was younger everything my mom said had no affect on me, I clearly didn't care. Why now should I care about my mother? I'm tired of mentioning her name. I'm santana. A bright student, a person you could tell anything to, a shoulder you can lean on, a energy booster. I’m my father. A helping, determined man. I’m so thankful that my beloved father, that he may rest in peace, gave me his last name. And not hers. SANTANA is who I truely  am.