As a child

Dismembered on the inside

smiling on the outside.

I still hear my cries

from when my father hit my mom.

The slap still echos

through the valleys of my mind.

The first act of violence

I've ever been scared of.

As a child of nine

dealing with the pain

of losing a father

who never cared

being reminded

your just like him

they turn their back

and say bad things.

Does this mean

I'm as bad as him?

As a child of ten I had no way

to deal with the pain.

Going against my family

and going insane.

Acting like an angel

with good grades.

While lying to my mother

and going to a club.

Having a boyfriend

and going to his house.

As a child of eleven

I discovered sharp objects.

Feelings tearing away

from the inside out.

Taking the razor

and dragging it

across my wrist.

They took away the pain

of being me.

As a child of twelve

I discovered hot metal objects.

Placing them against my skin

feeling the tear down my cheek.

The discolored skin

of being burned

by a flat iron.

It eliminated the pain.

As a teen of fourteen

I discovered my mother was a liar.

She promised never to get married.

She doesn't even love him.

Yet here I am

being torn away

from my mother

and left with my grandmother

like a piece of luggage.

She didn't even care.

I continued with my escapes.

As a teen of fifteen

I discovered something

I don't very much like

my family.

No one noticed

when I started to change.

The black pants and shirts.

The sudden want of darkness and cold.

Long sleeves in the middle of summer.

No skin shown when it's 100 degrees.

No one ever noticed

how much pain I hid.

No one ever cared

to undo the mask

that hid my pain.

No one ever cared

enough to make me change.

So I lie here in my grave.

At the age of sixteen

because I discovered

I never meant a thing.