By Lillian Kwok
After all these years some marks are still there. I thought about it while drinking coffee with Amy and she mentioned her father used to beat her. Only three times I thought. How lucky. I was always black and blue. Sometimes I let mother slap me because I knew then she would stop talking. But my mother said I did it to myself, and maybe she was right. Says I started as a baby, banging my head on the linoleum floor all day, that desperate for attention. I don’t know what I believe. All I can remember is sticking my fingers in my own bruises when no one was looking.
Originally published by Zoo Cake Press