About writing a book I. Everyone tells me I should I know where to start.
My first image I remember about my life was standing with my brother and my lil squishy clown. The woman we were with was very pretty and looked really sad. She was holding my brothers hand. She was the lady at the Methodist Home in Waco Texas. I don't know how old I was. I remember feeling so bewildered. It is like I can reach out and touch the memory but not quite. It was one of my many visits there.
But in respect to my Foster mother I would maybe wait to write it. Considering the fact that I was the only Hell she ever raised I don't want to send her into shock by writing the story of my life. Some things your mama should not hear about.
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