I cleaned my room. Finally after months of living in garbage and mess. Of sleeping until 5pm and staying up til’ 7am and basking in the sunlight before falling asleep and dreaming of nothing. I pushed my bed as far away from the door as possible so that I can hear your feet coming and expect you. My stomach turns inside of me and I feel the bile bite its way to my throat. An angry hive of bee’s is broken in my skull. I do not want to be here.
I am supposed to leave soon- By the beginning of fall I’ll be out. I’ll be in a dorm where I can put my bed wherever because it’s my bed. I can study how to become a teacher and how to make sure this doesn’t happen to other children.
Nobody can “save” me.
I lived through it.
and it hurts, it aches and I feel guilty for my complacency.
But kid’s should never have to feel the way I felt.
Confused, hurt and scared.
That’s why I want to be a teacher.
To help raise a generation of children who get to be children -
they don’t have to flinch or know the feeling of iron in their mouths.
They know the colors of the sky during a sunset.
The amount of ninja turtles and all of their names.
And maybe even a few Disney songs.
