The pain she felt when thw wodd came at her, the strike as if the wood could do it on its own. The person holding it i wouldnt dare look. My mind was telling me to run, run away from the beast. The whips and slashes back and forth went deeper than just skin but etched in my heart, in my insides where it hurts. The feeling of not being loved, but being hurt. The feeling that my own family would bring me pain, pain that's much worse than hell. I get the feeling as if love for me isn't there in their hearts.

She does her best to help, protect, and care for everybody she loves. She listen to problems because she knows it helps. She observe and take in everything they say. She puts on a facade for people, put on a mask, one hard to break. She feel as if the mask will stay like it's glued to her skin. Many times she tries and remove it , but it hurts. Its stuck, nothing or no one could remove the harden figure from her. It protects her, protects her from showing who she is, how she feel.

This room it has no lights it's completely dark. She screams and there's no echo, she breath seems like the only thing she can do. Four walls four corners nothing else, no doors, no food, no chance of survival. She refuse to let him see she refuse to let him think of her as a beast, a monster that has no brain. This other person inside her, she has a rage a rage that is built up, that is permanently stained there like a white cloth that got rubbed in dirt, the cloth goes through the process of washing and drying. The mud is still there but is slowly fading. It gets rubbed in more dirt, and never goes throught the process again, but is thrown in the trash where it belongs.