They told me to write an essay on how I see the world... as if my opinion actually matters.

They told me to write an essay on my life... as if they would ever know my pain.

They told me to write.

That's it.

They told me to let it flow... as if expressing could ever heal.

They told me to let it go... as if my past was one I could chose to forget.

Like the time... yea.
Like this time.

He told me he loved me... like the alcohol in his dreams.

He told me to pay attention... as if my mind could ever focus.

He told me to clean my room... as if my memory could erase the hurt he caused.

He told me to shut up as I cried in pain after my mother was beaten.

He told me to let it go as if my witness of **** was never even there.

That's it.

~
She told me she would help me... but where is she now?

My mother is gone.
My mother is...

My father will never believe.
My father will never be.
~

They told me to write an essay of how I see the world.

They told me not to let my past interfere and to never let my emotions get the best of me.

How should I do that?
I don't remember.
Am I supposed to?

He told me to clean my room... as if my memory could erase the hurt he caused.

They told me...