Dear Abuser,
One excuse, that's all it took, and your fists would come plummeting down on me. I'd scream, I'd cry, but no one could hear me, no one was around to. I could do nothing to stop you. I would scrunch up like ball as your rock hard fist smashed my already crumpled body over and over again.
I used to be just like any other girl, with friends and a happy family. But then Mum died and everything just deteriorated from there. The first punch you ever threw at me was the year Mum went to heaven, you had just been fired from your job and we didn't have the money to pay the bills. You had been pacing up and down my room all day. I eventually mustered up enough courage to ask what was bothering you. For an answer you gave me a busted lip.
When I was little I would scream and shout and cry, but that only encouraged you. I don't allow you the satisfaction of hearing my pain anymore; it's the one thing I had control of.
Eventually you would get tired of bashing me and leave to have a smoke outside. I'd gather enough energy just to crawl into my room where my tears were like rain; falling freely now that I was alone.
When my body couldn't cope with another escaping tear I would just stare into space and wish for death to take over, to sweep me off to another place.
It was one of those times that I got my idea, if you weren't going to let me go, then I was going to free myself. I was like a butterfly caught in a jar and I didn't want to live anymore.
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To Free A Broken Butterfly
Teen FictionI am like a butterfly in a jar, wounded and captured. To you I am a meaningless punching bag, to the rest of the world I died along time ago with my mother. Well that's what the media says anyway. I no longer exist. So why not just end my suffering...
