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OTHER ITA SITES:
Broken Wings [part 1]
The shout of my mother is all I'm hearing. My stupid ears doesn't want to seize hearing those painful words from where I came from.
I hate my skin for it let me feel the pain and the madness of stopping myself from saying what's inside of me, the feeling of sadness and anger to myself.
I can feel my adrenaline rush when she calls me idiot or stupid and it ends up in punching the wall in my room, having it wounded and weak. But, I'm weaker than my hands indeed for I can't help myself.
I was slapped again and nearly punched by my mother's hand. The feeling was so intense.. it made me cry AGAIN. I can still feel the pain in my right cheek and the pain in my chest... inside my chest.
But through all these pain, I love my mother very much but, I don't want her to know. Really don't want her to know.
Me: an animal. My own mother said this a thousand times. Am I really an animal?
Do we need to be like this? Do I need to take the pain and give a smile? Do I need to feel those painful words? Is this my life?
These wounds may heal but the scars will not disappear. I need God for I am broken.
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Travel Part B