That gun on my Mother’s head still haunts me at night. That time I locked myself in my room just because my Dad was too drunk still make me wake up sweating.
I put on my birthday suit and you let me scratch your back just right; just right so she won’t notice, so she will let you touch her with your callused hands just the same as the way you touched me.
Cece is what they call me,
for I am a child of despair and of sorrow.
I know this is overrated but be strong.
It will be alright.