"The Broken Girl Is Ranting - Part Three"

As I looked over at the two women a wave of saddness washed over me, like a pebble lost at sea, I felt myself drifting farther away in a black pool of yearning. I knew that I would never have that relationship with my mother like my mother has with her own. I knew there would be no randomly coming over or calling every other day to see how the weather is, no sharing recipies, no cooking pies together. Though that somewhat scared me, and made me want to hold my mother close--even though that would be interrupting, I knew that in the end it would be for the best. That having a close-to-none relationship with my mother would be benificial for the both of us when were older. At the time I knew it would be good but I also knew that in doing this I would always have a certain yearning for a mother-daughter relationship, one that couldn't be filled with my girlfriend's mother, my girlfriend's love, my best friend, nothing--it would forever be a void.

Like the void already dug from the absent father-daughter relationship. Unlike most of my friends I have a father but like all of them I share an almost non exsistent relationship with him. It does send a shock of pain straight to my heart when I hear "this songs is for all those dads and daughters out there" then all the happy teens dance closely to their fathers chest while I sit there watching my father drink champagne. All those fatherless children are lucky because their father doesn't live with them and being ignored in one's own house hurts more then no one home at all.

"Don't let anyone touch you like that." It is a shame that my mother never told me that sooner though I can't truely remember it and denial is my best friend I, or more my subconious, knows about the 'painful' memories laced in a forgotten Wonderland that appear with a flash then subside into blankness until a dull humming invades my ears--like the buzzing from silent static that blocks out one's surroundings. I remember the salty taste, the hair pulling, the metal through my hair, the slip of a drunk hand between my thighs as he nibbles my neck, the tearing of pain as fingers were pushed deeper, the boiling burn of water, the watchful eyes, the threating remarks in the halls, the cool of a locker as I am pushed into it, the promises broken, the humilation, the punishment, the fear, the broken trust, the confusion--the innocence, now lost. But where?

I don't remember.