i guess i’ve had this question all my life

why me?

why did i have to be born with a mother who didnt want me?

didn’t care about me

anymore than a tiny pill slipping into the back of her throat.

why me?

why is my childhood a thick black fog because of the pain you caused?

i hope you live your life remembering all the times you threw away.

because i do. how could a mother do that?

but you aren’t my mother.

my mother doesn’t value a high more than me.

but i still suffer because of you

turning to these pages because if i don’t capture this moment i might forget.

why me?

why am i stuck with trauma i can’t remember ?

i want to hate you

but i just can’t help but wonder

why me?