My family will never understand all the pain
they’ve inflicted on me; they can’t undo
the damage that was so flawlessly sown
on my skin. I can’t take away all the hurtful
words they threw in my face like acid, but I am
a forgiving person; my mind could’ve
experienced scarring for life. They laughed
at me and played with my emotions
in my weakest moments; I spent
more time crying than laughing.
I grew up way before my time, taking care of
kids that weren’t mine; they’ve never taken
the time to listen, assuming my depression
and suicidal feelings were all in my head.
They tried to talk me into believing I was crazy
while I juggled with living or dying.