What I remember

A snippet of conversation this morning brought memories all crashing down on me.

What I mean is, I could tell you that one of my stepdads used to throw food at and on me when he was drunk and scream “cmere fatty get your sugar pops”, but I wouldn’t want you goin’ around telling anyone else.

It doesn’t matter how many men tell me I’m beautiful. I don’t see it. I see him standing in my doorway while I try to pretend I’m invisible.


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