she calls me a 'trauma child'. is my life really that bad, i ask w. confusion in my eyes. she shakes her head w. sympathy nd reasures me that its the little things that went on that affected me so. she said it was the way daddy did lines unaware that i was in my play pen, watching nd admiring the way the white contrasted w. his dark skin. she said that it could have been the way my mother proved herself to be the whore everyone thought she was. she said that maybe it was the long line of depression that spread like wildfire through Blosson nd maybe the crying became too much. she said that NYC could have done some damage (but i loved it there, so maybe shes wrong)

i told her that i was scared. i wanted something to care for, something that would love me back no matter what. i said that to get that i didnt know what id do. she said i should try a puppy first.

i told her that he reminded me of the boy i slit my wrists for. she cringed nd touched me. yr smarter now though, she reminded me. yah, i thought the same, but the way things have been going, i think i just got more smooth.

before i left, she told me to love myself. i nodded nd walked away. i used to follow that. but i realized that theres really no point to loving yrself when no one else will join you.