Officially 5 years of this hell hole. I've been in the system for 5 years! This orphanage has been my home for five years as of today! It may seem to be that I'm exaggerating this, but frustration is written all over me. Why am I still here? The question sticks to my mind.
Every detail of this place saddens me. The walls grey and musty like a dirty alley, kids so young run around here, as if this place is okay. Can't blame them, it's the only home they know and the people are much nicer to the ones who get put here from money rather than disaster or tragedy.
It's like the high school movies. Preps and losers. Preps are pampered and the losers get bullied and left out, as, for the surroundings of this horrible place, it's not high school.
We the tragedy stories get served swamp shit. Taste like rubber, sometimes bitter.
Special occasions, we get a greasy pizza that feels your hand with dripping grease or the pie that's a year old. Having to eat around places of mold on its dry crust. It's utter bullshit. We don't even have proper places to sleep here! I'm in a prison cell! Little walls to divide each child into groups. Each having a toilet that's brown when at some point it was white. And a sink with mold around it. My bed squeaks every time I lay, and the number of mice droppings in every squared corner would send anyone running out of this place.
Not me not the ones like me, we have to stay here!
Peace comes only sometimes.... when I can just lay back in my raggedy bed and be able to listen to the drip of water come from the old pipes. Leaking all over the floor causing the smell of mold to worsen that's my only peace here.
Peace only comes when the man in the office falls asleep though. Any sound or any sign that your awake after lights out, sends you to the office.
An office visit leads to not sitting for a week. So I must be careful as I write these thoughts down tonight. The man is asleep I can see his droll linger down his cheek from here, but the man wakes at any inch of noise making me afraid to move.
Frighten as hell I needed this peace tonight. No one screams at me or makes me eat terrible food. I just listen to all the sounds in this old building and after a while fall asleep to peace, not endless tears or with scars on my ass.
I must add that I am very scared of tomorrow. The thought itself makes me cry, and I must write this all down because I will either move on from this prison or come back to it. In details, you see kids get taken away tomorrow. Adopted out of this place.
I've been here since I was four and now five years later as I turn 9 today, no one has ever taken a look at me. The people say I'm off.
I'm very little for a 9-year-old and I know I look a little odd. Hair of curls that never lay right I wear big circle glasses because my eyes are for shit. My nose is a little funny. Not sure it fits my face, but beyond the normal judgment upon my image, I have something everyone gets scared of.
A scar that goes across my face, its faded but not by much. When I first arrived it was much worse and nobody would even come near me.
The pain of my scar isn't the pain it caused, its the judgment I get based off of it. I get called the druggie baby.
My parents lost me when my mother, who as I can remember didn't do much but lay in bed, very pale and an ill figure. Did nothing. My father did the damage. The memory of my father is much different than my mothers. She stumbling everywhere would grab my face and say I love you Dawson and laugh hysterically at least. My father did nothing or said nothing besides hurtful words and actions.
He stood tall and framed. A man who's anger got the best of him.
My scar is from him slashing his cigar across my face. The pain was unbearable. I was 4 and my skin still new made the burning of my flesh stay burned for forever.
I was sent to my room with nothing but an "I fucking hate you." I had enough I couldn't stay in that house any longer so I snuck out my window and walked down the street. A shirt of mine pampered my face as I walked.
The burn aced and with every tear that ran down my face, it stung causing me to wimp and cry more.
A neighbor all the way down the street found me crying on the sidewalk that night. A little old lady coming home from most likely bingo. Her face fell as she saw me. I was guided in her house where she gave me a wet towel for my face and some cookies with milk.
I didn't realize that I was going to be sent here that night.
When the cops came and took me away I remember thinking it's gonna get better now. It only has gotten worse. Every time the day comes that I have a chance to leave I pray that I get taken away from this place. Just maybe someone will see me for me and not my scar.
I shrugged my shoulders and wiped the single tear that went down my cheek. It brought me back to 4 and with that my tears had to stop. I can't move backward. Only forward Dawson.
I sat my pencil on my little dresser that sat next to me and then stuffed my journal under the pillowcase. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes.
With eyes still closed I reached for my books, randomly choosing one. I opened quickly to see my favorite book in my hand. It was a scooby doo chapter book. They were way behind my reading level, but I loved the tales, they made me laugh.
The good thing about my cell is the moonshine from the window I get. Without out it, I wouldn't be able to read, and without reading I would have killed myself a long time ago. I sighed real big, said my prayers and began to read until darkness was all I remember.
