It won't take long for me to write this.
I remember that day, the last thing I asked God.
I didn't ask him for anything. I was too young to even know I could.
I was in my room, scared to death that someone was going to walk in again. Beat me up for some stupid thing that had nothing to do with me.
I was just an outlet of my parents to let the stress out. "the shit gotta go somewhere"
Laying in my room, under that ugly, yellow-flowered bedspread, tucked in between as many stuffed animals as I could pack around me...
I asked God, "What did I do so wrong, that you hate me so much, to give me these parents?"
He never answered. I was 9.
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