I don't understand why you're hitting me, Mama. And a part of me wants to die just so you'd stop. I want to understand, I do. Is it because I am not like you? Or it it because I am?
I flinch. More afraid and confused than in pain. In fact, there's no pain at all.
I'm sleepy. I'm drifting. I watch myself watch you.
I see that...
It takes all my self-control to keep my eyes on your fierce, magnificent beauty.
Friday, March 16, 2007
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