i woke up with a bang the feeling of past shame i am not her yet i feel like i am the label of slut painted on my face for i want to be loved for every part of me my hair my eyes my smile even my personality as long as im not used for my body i am content but my mind will not allow me to run free trapped in my bed no motivation no empathy no need to eat staring at the blank page trying to feel my poetry not just write it you have to feel your words to process your emotions it’s hard to explain the feeling of numb hard to pin point when it begun since my parents had left me to fend on my own i will alway feel the pain of alone a nightmare that sounds similar to reality listening to my mom as she screams a nightmare that was reality she never understood me to hit me not hear me every time i stood up i gained a little less fear as every tear ran down my young face i knew older me would get out of that place i would run as far as i could to be missing is better than misunderstood i would be my own mother if i had to i would i would start a new life next to the cottonwood trees and maybe just then i would feel happy fill the void with nature not drugs that little girl just needed a hug to be nurtured by her own mother sounded like a dream that young girl turned into a fein she was judged by everyone but she could not help it the older girl needed a hug but where was she to run too? who did she have to run too?