Broken Angel

I am not even skinny. I have a body of a woman, not a girl who is in high school. I weigh one-hundred and fifty pounds. But I do look better than some girls. Because most girls want that hourglass shape, very rarely do I never see them.

But I have that nice hourglass shape. I am not skinny, but I am not fat. (Or overweight as some like to call it. Man, people are too picky about how you put things.)

The ride home wasn’t even close to pleasant. I had to gnaw on my tongue and listen to my music, just so I wouldn’t burst off the bus with tears in my eyes.

I get off of the bus, excepting the rain unlike no other. Walking feels better. Even though the rain feels like needles over and over again coming in, and out of my skin. Nonstop.

I walk through the front door of what is called my home. Sadly, I do believe that this is all my life will ever be. Nothing has changed from the time I was eight, to ten til now.

Mom still jumping from guy to guy. Drinking away what she calls “sorrows”, She doesn’t even know what the word sorrow means. If she ever did she would've left me with my grandparents along time ago.