I remember my brother being told to hold me by my arms.

I was in punishment for playing with fire.

No justification.

But still, I am only a boy.

“Hold him.”

My older brother, as if a machine or puppet of some kind, willingly obeys.

My heart races, and I am smiling inside.

I know in someway in the future I will make it out of this hell.

I know I am a child, but it is not like I will die here. He doesn’t have the balls to kill me.

So I will just take this pain; my rationality kicks in.

Okay, brace myself.

Either a voice from God, or myself says so…

I do so.


To my face.

Steel toe boots.


Man, this hurts.

To my chest, and to my gut.


I am almost unconscious, and my face feels inconceivable.

I am locked in the room.

I look in the mirror.

My face doesn’t look too bad I say.

In fact, I feel like no damage was done, and it just wasn’t so bad after all, my afterthought.

There is redness in the corner of my eye.

I take a razor and give myself a shape up.

My dire need for self love, and self care I presume – because I was told I am ugly and stupid.


These very words was thrown around so very often.

“Rock him to sleep.”


Memories arise, and I write them here.

Cleansing my soul and mind, to feel happiness and peace, once and for all.

I forgive you Yusef.

I forgive you Shatina.