Open me

“STOP F**KING TOUCHING ME!” I shouted, pushing him away from me.
Suddenly, one of the boys pulled out a knife and came towards me with no remorse in his eyes.
"Gosh no," I thought. "No, please don't," I begged them, fearful for my life.

If I die would anybody care?
Would people cry for me, would you cry?

I cry a lot, and I don't sleep.
My life is just one big bad nightmare I can't wake up from.
I'm just like a dull bookcover that everybody judges but nobody takes their time to open it up and read.
I got so many painful stories to share but I wont speak unless somebody took their time to open me.

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3. Chapter Three

Chapter three

A few months ago this was the life I was living. I was going out every night with my friends, partying, smoking and intoxicating myself in order to help me forget about my childhood. But this wasn’t the answer and the result never worked. Once I was sober again and isolated with my thoughts. My thoughts would crawl all over me, asphyxiating me and my past would get remembered again causing me to cry myself to sleep and curse everybody around me. And then here I was once again doing the same routine every weekend with my so called friends partying, drinking and smoking.

I remember my childhood like it was yesterday. Growing up being a mixture of Jamaican and Pakistan wasn’t easy for me. Neither was it for my mother as for her coming from Pakistan and marring a black man from Jamaica surprised her side of her family as stereotypically her ethnic mostly marries the same ethnic group.
Despite the fact that my father was not a religious man at all, her marrying outside the race which was not a major thing but, just a surprise, made matters worse when they found out that my father was involved in drugs.
This situation caused conflict and turned my mum’s side of her family against her.

I could go on for eternities going on about the description of my mother and father. But I can’t seem to block out the hatred I have for them.

It’s not the same type of hatred for both. The hatred towards my mother was only temporary but for my father its forever there. It’s forever permanent.

I hate my father. I hate him. I hate it. And I’m Glad his gone, I hope he rots in Hell for what he did.

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