But you say it's just a dream and give me a big hug. You give me a cup of milk and tuck me into bed. You tell me a story and then kiss me good night making me feel better. You leave back to your room and i fall back to sleep.
The next day I run up to you and give you a big hug. I don't even realize the bags under your eyes or how you keep coughing. I figure it's just a cold, no big deal. I didn't realize how sick you had gotten. I was afraid after mommy had died. i was afraid you would die and leave me alone. Maybe my dreams were perparing me for the inivitable. That one day I would be all alone in the world. I was 11 years old when you died, Daddy. Eleven and alone just like I thought. I miss you to the point of insanity abd I cry myself to sleep so often. And my foster mother doesn't care. She just screams at me telling me to shut up or she'll give me a real reason to cry. I hate her so much and I tell her so. She doesn't care, she just hits me...
Like in my dreams I got to school bruised and beaten, my eyes red and swollwn. People don't see my bruises though. I make sure everyone os covered with long sleeves and turtleneck for the times you've tried to choke me to death. They'll never know about the names you call me and all the suicide attepts. The red lines that spill out me hate ofr life. They will never know about them. I'll never tell a soul or they will die just like me. They will rot in the Hell I have created with me actions and my words... They will cry their eyes out and blood will stream down their faces.
That's just how wverything has effected me in life. I have become all I hated when i was little, everything I dispise and I hate myself for that.
I loved you, Daddy, and you were snatched from me turning my life into a hell. It's cold inside, cold inside my heart, and soul. My body shivers as me tears freaze. Can you hear my soul crying out for you to come back. Come see me sometime and maybe things would change. Tell my fost mother how her words harm me and that she is physically killing me as much as I'm mentally dying. Help her understand that I feel so alone in a world that hates me. Make her cry the tears that I have cried for 4 years and maybe my scars will go away. Maybe my hate and sorrow will vanish. That's what I want, to be happy again. Like the innocent days when you used to read to me whenever I had a bad dream or like the nights we would stay up late to watch the moon rise. Like the days I had you, Daddy.
I want to tell you about all the bad dreams I have because I know you'll read my story and give me a warm glass of milk and tell me that it'll all be o. she doesn't do that. My foster mother never did anything for me. She likes to see me suffer. To drown in my pool of pain and self misury., But dont' they all...
