"I will abandon you in a second,"
was what my dad said to "teach me a lesson."
"You're a worthless piece of trash,"
was what my mom would say when I didn't give her cash.
The only one who was truly a parent figure
was my grandma who was disfigured.
She had a hunched back
and was always looked at --
by strangers, family, and friends.
It didn't really matter - the ridicule for her would never end.
As I grew older, I felt the need to protect her.
She became somewhat of a second mother.
My dad would raise the belt,
and I would run to her crying.
She became my protector and saviour.
It wasn't noticeable that she was dying.
After a collapse in the beginning of fall,
I felt a jolt in my heart.
We rushed her to the nearest hospital,
and I knew she was having a bad start.
I wanted to be next to her and help her through,
but the doctor told us that her need for blood grew.
She was losing a huge amount,
as it maintained the same texture as water.
There was not much the doctor could do but put in more orders.
Within five months of being in the hospital,
my grandma passed away.
She told me to be strong,
and I hold her words with me today.