7. A trophy mark..
7:44 p.m. & Monday, May. 15, 2006
My sister and I got in trouble for playing yesterday. I wet her with a bush, so she threw me into the same shrub. I landed on a brick and grazed the skin off part of my foot. Mother was yelling at us, saying that it was irresponsible as it could have been my face or something else of equal importance. I say she�s a hypocrite. When she threw the phone at my head, and the bone just below my eyebrow was cut open and bleeding all over her kitchen floor, she didn�t think of consequences. At the time all I could think of was �Why?� I could never understand why she treated me the way she did, or what it was that I�d done so wrong. She shows it off to anyone she can, as though it�s some kind of a trophy mark.. it still hurts.
I want to remember What takes a lifetime to forget
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I am me. Nothing more, nothing less. I write. I don?t write beautiful things. I write about things that happen to me. Things that come from my soul. Deep inside me. This is my life. This is my angst. This is my happiness. This is my joy. This is my sorrow, and my pain. I don?t consider myself a 'poet' in any manner. I consider myself a struggling teen just trying to get by in life. I've only a few things left to hold onto. And writing is one of those...
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