Bruises

I feel like there might actually be a point in life. Life. Like maybe there is a point in trying and caring. After a while of constantly trying you give up. But then one tiny person does something to show they care and a spark ignites and you try again and again. It feels nice being cared about. I pulled out a sketch pad and put it on an easel. I love to draw. It puts you into a different world. A world where everyone cares and noone cared about what you were wearing or how you looked. That feeling... That tiny feeling gives you a little hope that one day people might actually care and you won't be completely alone. I hated the marks on my wrist , I hated people asking about the marks and me making up excuses. I quickly put on my art shirt and pulled out water paint. The white paper became lively and colorful. All paintings mean more than what you see ,you come up with a backstory. For my paintings I used past memories. A willow tree painted on my paper and the leaves slowly fell. This wasn't just any tree this was where my mom and dad got married at. Where I used to sit and with my dad and talk about my future. Then we stopped going there and my mom and dad fought more. Dad drink his pain away and it worked for awhile until the night came and he wouldn't come home for dinner. Things just got worse and worse. He started coming home late and screaming in the middle of the night. I was scared but I didn't say anything. __________________________________________________________________________