Before years three and five things where easy, happy, magical, everything in the world seemed right like it should be through the eyes of children.
At years three and five our world was torn apart, the band aids where torn off by the person who was supposed to help us be years three and five.
Those wounds were never let to mend, leaving nasty scars that never stopped hurting.
As years three and five slipped by things only got worse, the childhoods we should have had where ripped from us.
I tried to protect you little brother, please believe me, I really tried.
I hoped if I did all the growing up that you would not have to, that you could have enough of a childhood that those scars would heal.
Though I cooked, cleaned, watched over you, listened to HIS lies, HIS slander, I gave it my all, and it did nothing, you still hurt and those scars never did heal.
Even today you hurt so much that you do those terrible things little brother, to get away from the horrible world!
Rationally I know it's not my fault, I know HE should have been there for us, to protect us, to take care of us, when he was not.

Even though I know all that I still can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.
I’m sorry brother!

I will try to do the right things now and maybe you can still have
a good life.