Kim

WolfWarrioress420
2010-07-28 17:36:57 (UTC)

The first eight years.

I don't want pity.
I don't want sorrys.
I am using this to draw strength from those around me.
To maybe give back hope others have given me.


Surrounded by oceans, I grew up in Maine.
Walked myself from and to school. The boys and girls club.

Fighting the boy's for my sisters clean name.
Why do the children lie?
Fighting at home,
the men,
my mother brought home.
Her buisness, touched me.

Sometimes at night.
I lay quietly.
Lising to the groans in the room next door.
Sometimes, my door creaks.
A man enters.
Trys to touch me.
I dont want this. STOP STOP
The feeling of that dirtyness hasnt gone away.
Noone protected me.


A little girl, protecting her sister, her mother.

Unable, to protect self.


Dishs crash.
Mothers all junked up.
nicole walks upstairs.
Zombified.
I stay downstairs.
Another fight seems to be brewing.
Need to see, need to know.
He strides aross the kitchen.
SMACK. My mother.
Who is this man? Never seen him before.
I start yelling. At him.
Noone touchs people I love like that.
Hoping, that this time, my mother does something right.
Protects me, somehow. Like I am trying with her.
The breath smacks out of me. i slam into a counter.
Look down,
feet, cut, bleeding. Glass sticking out.
Can barley walk without a crunching sound.
i still yell.
I want him out.
No tears drip from this five year old eyes.


Foam coming from her mouth.
I knew what it ment.
911. Momma is in trouble.
Overdose, again.

How is a two year old so smart?


Mom still bringin home the boys'. Mostly big tuff looking
ones. I relize what they are. Jail men. And not the
innocent ones either.
Why would she bring them around her children?

Still walking around in the same clothes day after day.
Mother's got some bleached hair, sports car, fake nails.
I'm straving. I want to eat.
Can't ask though.
Gotta do it myself.
Look in the frigde. nothing.
But, eggs, and romien.

Where's the saftey in a HOME?

Exploring Maine, riding my bike.
Picking bugs.
I dont want to go home.
collecting rocks.
finding rope swings.
Swimming in brooks.
Hanging mostly with myself.
I got a best friend back then though.
Ashley.
Thank you.


Another shove. Another punch.
Then, i dont remember anything.
But waking up.


Scott! My new step da's name.
Moving to MA?
i don't want to leave,
(this place is all that is familar. this nature. NOT YOU!)


My dad, isn't around. I dont know where he is.
Barley know him too.
I see him once every few years.
I want him around.
Does he not like me?
Why am i so bad.?

(Your not)


Starting to work.
Im seven now.
Lifting funiture, and moving things, things called
auctions.
It's kinda fun.
If ma wasnt so fucked up all the time.
And now, now shes drinking.
The beating from her getting more frequent.
I just wana die.





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