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By some of the pics on my website, you might think that I am suicidal or goth or something but I'm not. I just have a different personality from people and I like different things. Go ahead and look at my website, try to figure me out, you prolly won't tho. Usually nobody gets me/ understands me, but I like it that way. ~heather~
Call me a slut
Call me a whore
Call me whatever
I've heard it all before
Say that I'm fake
Say that I lie
Say what you want
You won't see me cry
Because I know none of this is true
But calling me this shit
What the hell does that make you?
YOU SHOULDN'T USE OR DISUSE YOUR FRIENDS OR FAMILY BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS GOT YOUR BACK....ALWAYS
My name is Sarah
I am but three,
My eyes are swollen
I cannot see,
I must be stupid I must be bad,
What else could have made my daddy so mad?
I wish I were better
I wish I weren't ugly.
Then maybe my mommy
Would still want to hug me.
I can't speak at all,
I can't do a wrong.
Or else I'm locked up,
All the day long.
When I awake,
I'm all alone.
The house is dark,
My folks aren't home.
When my mommy does come
I'll try and be nice,
So maybe I'll get just
One whipping tonight.
Don't make a sound!
I just heard a car,
My daddy is back
From Charlie's bar.
I hear him curse,
My name he calls.
I press myself,
Against the wall.
I try and hide
From his evil eyes.
I'm so afraid now,
I'm starting to cry.
He finds me weeping
He shouts ugly words,
He says its my fault
That he suffers at work.
He slaps me and hits me
And yells at me more,
I finally get free
And I run for the door.
He's already locked it
And I start to bawl.
He takes me and throws me
Against the hard wall.
I fall to the floor,
With my bones nearly broken.
And my daddy continues,
With more bad words spoken.
"I'm sorry!" I scream
But its now much too late,
His face has been twisted
Into unimaginable hate.
The hurt and the pain,
Again and again.
Oh please God. Have mercy!
Oh please let it end.
And he finally stops
And he heads for the door,
While I lay there motionless
Sprawled on the floor.
My name is Sarah
And I am but three,
Tonight my daddy
Murdered me.
This poem was written and passed around the internet after a three year old girl was murdered by her father. Three years old! What can you do? Keep passing it. If you have a website, post it on your site. And always, always speak out against it at every available opportunity.
Someone get me to a doctor
and someone call the nurse
and someone buy me roses
and someone burn the church
we're hanging out with corpses
and trotting in this hearse-My Chemical Romance