These are the last words, last writings of a child, lost, hopeless, life, love passion, grace, forgiveness and realizing, the end has come. This poem, is a book, a story without chapters because that is how it was written. The Odessa of a Star Child, me, is this story about me? Why do I hear myself talking? Its like reading a book or telling a story to myself, my words, my voice.
Is there anyone listening, if so why? What is it about me that is so special? Who am I" Why am I asking these questions and if this weren't strange enough to ask, stranger still is, who are you?
I am eight and a half years old, my first journal is a note pad, I found it or it found me. Inside there are pages, empty pages. I want to write but am afraid. If I write what he does to me, will someone see, will someone tell him to stop? I'm unsure what to write, or how much to say. I do know that if he finds this, I will not have to worry about what I have written, he will kill me.
Again today he tells me he will kill me, I'm sure to get a beating, I'm not sure what I've done, but the beating will come.
