I have so many stories.
So many that no one knows about.
I want to tell people.
But i cant bring myself too.
The memory of who i used to be scares me too much.
I remember coming home some days and going in my room and writing a burn book.
I remember taking knives and cutting up trees and my bedroom walls.
I remember listening to my parents yell,i was five years old.
And the biggest thing i remember was getting told that i would have the cops called on me. That i needed to straighten up. I was SO young. Too young to amount to anything.
I remember crashing doors and people yelling instead of saying "I love you",I seemed to never go to bed knowing if i was truly loved or not. Deep down I knew, but i was too young to hope.
And then the monsters came.
The nightmare's were the worst.
I needed my mother, but not as much as she needed me.
And here i am sitting on my bed. With a love in my life that i thought didn't exist. Almost 16,and still wild. So...........Why do i feel this way?
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts From A Book Ill Never Write| #Wattys2018
Poetry©2017 By dallywinston1738 or Annaka Logue or Annaka Marie ||All rights reserved.|| ||Plagerism is punishable by law|| These silent thoughts were stuck in my head. Wanting, begging,pleading to be let out. They never ended up becoming more than a few...
