I think back to the images in my head some old, others new. I’d always wondered every minute that some is doing the same things I am. Someone who has my curvy figure, soft brown skin, and talented voice that hasn’t been discovered yet even when I’m at gigs now and then. Maybe someone who has up’s and down’s, when your life feels like it has no meaning and you can’t go on. Someone who understands that even a girl with a girl who has everything can’t be the happiest in the world. Someone who has a functioning family. Who even has a mom. That their dad doesn’t rape them and make you cry. Who doesn’t take his anger on his only kid.
That’s what I’ve always wished for when I room to my room crying. My only escape from him most of the time. My safety. But no one has to go through what my life has become. No one ever bothers to ask about my life and if they do I have to tell them lies. Because they only see the outside, the fakeness of me, my outer shell.
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