thirteen
No one's home now.
The windows are grimed with the yolk you've smashed on the panes when I got home.
I made the mistake by washing it off with water. It got messier.
My mum saw the mess as I hurriedly wiped it off. She yelled at me. Told me I was a worthless child.
Slapped me.
I thought about how your shoves were a lot more painful, so I was thankful for that.
She then headed out without another word.
Now nobody's home.
I finally let a tear leak.
The bruises on my stomach are getting darker.
Happy Birthday to me.
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