I realized that I was no longer a child when I knew the moment my parents were about to fight. I knew my best option was to gather my things and sit at the farthest room from them. Granted, living in a one bedroom apartment only goes so far as 20 feet. I knew I was no longer a child when I mastered the art of drowning out screaming voices and sirens just to do my homework. Your innocence is gone; there is no turning back. I wasn't a child anymore. No one could ever tell me I was. Maybe if they would understand what I did to survive they would but it never seemed like they did. They simply widened their eyes, placed their hand on my back and led me to room where I knew what was already ahead of me. My voice was soft at first, but that was before I felt the roar boom at the base of my throat. The room went silent; it is as though my voice had trapped their throats. Now they listened to me; I was no longer a little girl. I knew I wasn't, but it never occurred to them. I told them the truth; it stung their tongues but it had to be heard. Confidence was leaking out of my eyes as tears: no longer a child. No longer overlooked; no longer ignored. There still are distractions at every corner I turn, bumped protruding from cracked streets, someone trying to catch me at my weakest.