My mark, what is it about my mark that disgusted them to a point where they painted me ugly because I had something different? Didn't they understand the self conflict I had every time someone reminded me of how they hare the side of my face that had a pigmentation? My father hated it the most, the first man that broke my heart. Not only did he remind me constantly of how horrible the 'thing' on my face looked, but he tormented me. Deflower me because no man deserved to have the privilege of deflowering his daughter. No boy deserved to have his fruit except for him. Not that I knew any man let alone people except for him, my mother and my dog. But his pervetness made me lose both parents. I had never stepped outside of my yard but they died died and I was forced to leave them burning inside a house I used to call home. I had my dog which I lost along my journey.

I embarked on a journey that took me to places I never thought I'd see, places that had people worship my vagina. All that I had left was myself if I count for something.