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My only witnesses were the Ninja Turtles.

  How do I get some one to believe me?  
Should I waste time trying to fight the stereotype that you are an angel that can do no harm?  
How do I forget that bedroom?  
Drugs are just boring now and I can't seem to find death in addiction.
I gave up on giving up long ago.  
I am here.  
Still stuck with the thoughts of that fuzz.  
Both of you responsible for playing with me like a toy for your amusement.  
I was literally only a fucking child.  
You scum bags have 6 children a piece and I bet those kids were never "loved" like I was.  
You had your fun, then my mother died and you up'd and left when the only man in my life stepped up.  
My brain didn't work and all I could think about was the where about's of my mother.  
What I didn't really know is that I was living in a war zone.  
I was the only innocent thing in that apartment.  
Then when all you women left things finally got peaceful.  
No more arguments,  
No more fighting,  
No more watching my dad cry about being weak and dominated by someone ethically destroyed.  
I was too young to see and understand but the memory of the physical was so vivid that the picture explained itself.  
My dad was walking proof that marriage is a possible tumour in development.  
Thanks for brining me in.  
I guess.  
 
How do I go about forgetting that TV displaying afternoon cartoons?  
Enticed by the colors and action.  
I didn't even know that I had a penis.  
You did tho.  
You knew more about my body than me.  
You knew how to make my tongue work before I could test it out on someone I actually love.  
I didn't know.  
I was just enticed by roundhouse kicks and pepperoni pizza.  
I was a portly little fucker.  
Too young.  
If I knew any better I'd say there is a reason that food is so tasty,  
so abundant,  
it doesn't stop.  
I love it.  
She knew I loved it.  
She loved me to Death.  
Hers.  
 
Karma is a bitch.  
I love you tho.  
I guess.  
 
Between the force feeding of junk and force eating of vagina,  
I didn't know shit.  
It wasn't only you two scumbags in that room in the back.  
The babysitter had to get in on it.  
I have to be honest with you guys,  
by a technicality I lost my virginity when I was about 6 or 7.  
Didn't even know it.  
I do know that since this girl wasn't my family something deep down finally told me "this ain't normal".  
These older folks should not be restraining me to a bed and playing with me like this.  
Where is my mother?  
 
She plays with me to calm me down.  
When my sisters did it,  
I felt like a child slave,  
"Do this"  
"Put your tongue here"  
That fucking smell.  
That FUCKING taste will never leave my FUCKING MOUTH.  
EVER.  
I don't cry a lot and I am holding this shit back and it hurts more that I write about it.  
Fuck you all.  
 
Anyway.  
She calmed me down with her mouth.  
Finally I get some gratification eh?  
It felt so good.  
To be with a woman who was only concerned about my pleasure.  
I guess I was a good practice dummy.  
Dummy.  
 
As rock hard as a fucking baby could get she got me in. I wanted out.  
Then in.  
Then out.  
I had no choice.  
She put a few smiles on my face.  
Stephanie.  
You see I learned to like Stephanie.  
I even bragged about fucking her in school when I was old enough to realize I was being raped.  
But I'm a "man"!  
So I fucked her.  
With my 8 years of experience.  
No one believed that shit.  
Lmao.  
 
This fucks my head every time I think about it.  
That room in the back.  
When it was just me and father I moved to that room at age 11 or 12.  
Bad dreams were normal,  
So I was so scared as a kid that I  just had to sleep in my dads room.  
I really could not handle the dreams back then.  
Food was my only friend,  
and people were monsters that somehow had power over my life.  
 
At some point I just stopped sleeping normally.  
That room fucked my head up.  
I smoked my ass off in there to keep my head empty and fresh.  
When I decided to be bigger than myself  and quit the degeneracy for a bit, that's when the room attacks.    
When my guard is up is when the shadows of the past come to restrain me to my bed.  
Not Telling me.  
Making me do as he pleases.  
Choking me!  
Keeping me up for weeks on end.  
My heart pounding irregularly from insomnia.  
No weed.  
No nothing.  
Just running.  
Hurricane Sandy came and I ran her out of my town.  
I was running into my death.  
I was hard.  
When those trees were breaking apart and flying past my head I was Fucking Hard!  
 
Better than sex.  
For the time being.  
 
That room shaped me.  
Neutral.  
Chaotic genesis.  
 
My dreams moved me more than people.  
My nightmares were a roadmap to navigating life.  
Those shadows weren't always malicious.  
One in particular probably seen what was wrong with their actions and comforted me in my time of need.  
I don't really believe in the supernatural.  
If anything the shadows of the night are 1000 fold more animated than the shadows that hug my corners when I am riding Lucy.  
I think my Rem is better than any drug on the black market.  
I can see me seeing you.  
All I need is the right amount of chaos in my life.  
Or that room in the back.  
I haven't had a night terror like that since I was in that room.  
 
God sits in his mothers basement, in his cum encrusted Calvins, Drinking Ale, and laughing at his creations.  
 
I have been programmed from the start to not trust anyone.  
My environment helped.  
My solitude reinforced my ideals.  
My actions define only what I choose to let them.  
I'm not a man of much action.  
Just a lot of thinking.  
 
So it's hard for me to just point my finger at someone who knew what they were doing.  
I get shit for being a man.  
I get shit for being a black man.  
I get shit for being human.  
I get shit even more for not conforming.  
So in my eyes I could get raped by the most inclusive of ruffians and if I am not singing the tune of what ever social political agenda that's popular than I am just another one.  
 
No #MeToo  
No camera's and stories on the news.  
I am like any actual victim.  
I am in a position where I only know who fucked me as a child.  
They know they fucked me as a child.  
They know that at this stage they won.  
Now they run around taking from me the foundation that made me who I am today.  
Home less and kicked out of my childhood home by the woman who raped me.  
My own sister.  
 
My dad left us the apartment because she was a loser with beautiful kids, and I had to go contribute to a better cause. When my time to return was there, I was met with some man not on our lease in my old room. Illegally paying to stay, and more than likely fucking my whore sister.  
 
I beat the witch in court and immediately had an order of protection written up out of pure spite, to eject me unlawfully again from my home. I won in court but I still was homeless for about 7 months. Picked myself up because I'm not a stepping stone, and reset.  
She said I threatened her and her kids, She said I choked her, she said I did so many things and the female judge just told her to stop lying, while slapping her on the wrist.  
 
What the fuck is Justice?  
 
So I have to step back and examine people especially women.  
I have been abused my whole life, when I am round them.  
"Family".  
 
So we live in a world where I can prove someone is lying to the judge, and because they are a certain gender they don't face the actual judicial system.  
 
What's funny is when you look at the face of that judge as this witch spouts off lies about her YOUNGER BROTHER by almost 15 years as if he is just another Baby Daddy.You can see that all of those lies were actually things that she did to me. Why are they so sick in the head? Why? How?  
 
I will never trust  any of you off grip.  
 
That judge was alright. Katz was her name.  
 
Some are good most are just awful. I find that actual strippers and prostitutes are way more honest and up front.  For some reason I seem to relate to them well. Why is it so expensive to find an actual human? Its like humanity is it's own rare currency.  
 
I needed to get that off my chest.  
 
Roundhouse kicks and Pepperoni pizza.  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
Written by Jonny212
Published
Author's Note
Sitting on a couch opening closed doors in search for answer.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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