Too pretty for my own good-especially as a boy. Sold to a brothel at just eight years old to feed the mouths of others. What I endured should never touch a child's skin. But it did. Over and over. If I had the strength, I would have run. But I was starving. Fragile. Forgotten. And yet... I still hold on. To the smallest flicker of hope. Because if that dies, then so do I.
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