This is not a story, its my agony. A piece of my mind as it dwindles in turmoil. A page of my dog-eared diary. A portion of my suffering.
Its no tale, its my pain. Birthing droplets of tears. Inked from the deepest part of my battered soul and violated body.
Its my truth and its proof. Evidence of my doom. A gloom that began when I clocked 13. An evil mother never saw.
Its my 16th birthday today. I wish I never grew these breasts that attract papa. I wish he rots in the deepest part of hell.


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