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ItSstill hurts

you know I stand here and ponder
what if I tell my story and
I am thought of differently
I'm viewed as fragile, a fragile little flower is definitely not what I am
I'm smiling on the outside but I'm dying from within
most people are born into the world with two parents who
love them more than they love themselves
except I was not
now don’t get me wrong I was not born with a deadbeat dad nor was I born with a mother who loved drugs more than she loved me
instead I was born to teenage parents
who didn't seem that much older than me
who didn't know how to raise me
who none the less, didn't really want me
growing up it was mom's house this week dads house that week
split family holidays
which was always great around Christmas for those double holiday gifts
but it was the late assignments, due to being left at moms
missing essays, being left at dads
It was always
me
being the adult in the negotiations
me
growing up to care for myself by the age of five
me
learning that my mom didn't want me when I was 1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
because I couldn't take care of myself
because it just wasn't convenient to her
because she would rather go out and party
than spend time with me,
her only child,
her only daughter
my mother who would get so drunk
that her words would slur together
when she spoke they became like daggers being shoved straight inside me
“YOU B**** YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO BE ANYTHING IN LIFE I SHOULD HAVE ABORTED YOU”
whilst shoving me into the walls
leaving bruises
I eventually couldn't hide
I believe that through the struggle you should keep pushing forward, to never give up and eventually you will hit a good patch even if it's not right now
my mother was always a terrible drinker
I never thought it would get
this bad
so bad
to where she would total my car
with a baseball bat
I just kept telling myself
over and
over
that it was a bad night for her
except it wasn't 
it was a normal night
where she was drinking
as always
it was always my fault you know
I forgot to pick up HER dirty dishes or scrub HER floors.
whatever was around her became
her spear
and was chucked at me with such a force it occasionally broke
shattered remotes
nail polish bottles that left oversized welts
charger boxes that left prong sized bruises
and the occasional cell phone
when she's in the kitchen
cooking utensils become
wooden clubs
swung while i was in her way
not doing what I needed to be doing
like not filling her glass with more
vodka than soda
I remember coming home from school some nights
the age of 6 or 7
to already empty liquor bottles strewn across the floor
my mom on the sofa
cutting herself
telling me to look
look
at the pretty deep cut she had made
like she was a preschooler who had just found their favorite stone
I never argued with her
for I was afraid that if I did I wouldn't come out on the pretty end
but I did
I took my chances
we were arguing about how I never help out around the house
I know I did that day
I cleaned up everything
I did everything she asked
I made sure
I always make sure
but it didn't matter to her
it was already set in her mind
I just remember her picking up her hand
grabbing my whole body
like I was a rag doll
throwing me to the ground
we both fell
her and I
all her body weight on top of mine
as I smashed my head into some paint cans that had been lying nearby
they cracked open and leaked paint everywhere
but all I remember
was her telling me
“YOU’RE A FAILURE AND YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT”
I believe that through the struggle you should never give up even if you're in a rough patch because the sun will shine through even if it's storming right now
I was born to teenage parents who were unsure about me
and still are




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