Particles of consequence pronounce themselves, pointing their fingers at me.

You beat and scarred me when I was less than three.

Why must I acknowledge guilt for that which I am not the cause?

I never was what you hoped for. I’m am not only disposable, I am parasite and desirable for termination.

I know you wish you had that abortion you tell me everytime toy’re drunk or just out of frusration.

Your defect daughter.

Your punishment and blame. You weren’t one of those girls, somehow I’m to blame.

We’ll never have any sort normal, loving relationship, we’ll always resent, get phyical. We’ll always be the same.

Look away.

We have nothing left to say.

…but Mommy I love you,
Truly I do.


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