Twelve.
Such a wonderful age.
The human is still young, yet beginning to gain more knowledge.
But my twelve was different.
My twelve wasn't playing with toys
Or reading books all day
No.
It was about working a hard job under my stepfather's violent hand.
About crying out for help
Yet too quiet to be heard.
My twelve was about finding the power of
Turning mental pain into that of physical
About the box of pills in my drawer
And a bottle of water helping them get into my system
My twelve was about going to sleep
And hoping i'll never wake up
About my mother not knowing her child tried to end his life
At its very beginning.
Even after the 2 years thatr have passed since that day, i don't understand how someone could ever do something like that to a child.