Stolen Streets

Why was I leaving? Where I lived had never exactly been considered home for me. I had always been itching to leave, ever since my mom had died. She had died in her sleep from drug overdose. I doubt my father even noticed she ever left us. If he did, he sure didn’t show it. I don’t think my father consisted of compassion. What bubbled inside him was mostly anger, which he constantly took out on me. I had been going through constant torture every day since my mom had died. I would wake up every morning to the gift of another beating. I was given new scars, bruises, broken bones, and cuts every day. Even though my father had only been intending to hurt me physically, he sure did hurt me emotionally, too. Boy did he mess with my head.