What are you looking at? You think that you can judge me? You can't even imagine the pain I have endured. You are living the perfect life. During your teenage years, you were probably having the time of your life at your prom. My mom was selling my body on the street for some meth. The American Dream does not exist in my world. My parents are dead. My husband beats me. The only thing I have to keep me sane is my pen and paper to relieve my pain. Can you handle my truth? Or will you be the one to judge me?