When I was a child my baby brother's father abused my mom and I didn't know where to start even explaining how it felt so I wrote a little something.

Hand Marks
I watched from my room in the back of the apartment. My mother a million miles away from. I held on to my little brother, covering his eyes. Trying to soothe him as I watched one claw-like hand grabbing her arm tightly, and his other making its way to her cheek like lightning. The shouting and loud sobs were deafening. His voice angry. Her face red and wet with tears. He looked my way with fire in his eyes, but I hid behind the door. Refusing to look back at him. I knew he wouldn't hurt me, but whenever he would put his hands on her he hurt me just as bad as he did her. The look in his beady red eyes, the sound of his growl-like voice, and the feeling of fresh wounds on her body scared me. And I had nowhere to truly hide.
I wished daddy were there. He wouldn't have let anything bad happen to her, I know it. But mommy left him for another man. And then left that one for this big hair monster. The one that haunted my dreams.
I closed my eyes for a second, attempting to catch my breath but failing terribly. I heard a door slam shut. I placed my brother on his bed and ran as fast a my little legs let me. I ran to my mother. I placed my small hand on her cheek gently, afraid I'd hurt her. She held me close. She swore she would leave him but he wouldn't let her. He held his grip on her brain and she just wasn't strong enough to fight back yet.
She got pregnant and gave birth to another precious little boy. A second innocent creature I had to protect. I couldn't let them see the monsters that crept behind those walls we were supposed to be safe in. Not like I did. Maybe now he would stop landing his big hands on her. I hoped he would stop leaving marks on her skin and scars in her mind. But that scary man continued his fits, never getting better, only worse. Screaming and ranting on and on. His voice got louder and louder.His hand marks got darker and darker. She couldn't hide them anymore.
I hated having to watch her cry night after night wondering if she was good enough. For anyone. And one day she snapped. Throwing all his things out the window of our apartment. She had had enough of him. And right before his hand landed on her again I ran towards them, my feet barely touching the ground, and tried my best to shield her. I was 6. I wasn't big enough to cover her, but important enough to stop him. But that was only the beginning of the story.


**Sonny**

I've tried so many things to try to figure myself out. Therapy, retreats, church. I thought maybe this can help. Since I was a little girl I questioned myself. Why I did things the way I did, or why I did them at all. I tried to help myself but things kept building up so I started writing and it's helped me. Now I want to share my story. 

**Sonny**