My Freedom? Or am I just another Mexican?

Apparently, my parents just handed me to myself, this box, in its entirety is me. At least I finally got paid for all the money they earned when I was child labor – I even got paid in newsagents british sweets (candy.) How appropriate. Birth certificate, naturalization forms (I mean a STACK of naturalization paperwork I’m supposed to understand apparently) and EVERYTHING. I’m so wondering why I’m even in this country at this point let alone alive. It feels like a child size grave. In fact, it’s worse, it’s a cardboard box. My parents, no longer, have any existent Power of Attorney over me. Congratulations Lee? At least you know you you are finally.

What is SO messed up is that I’m actually diabetic. I get paid in sweets, and I’m DIABETIC. Unbelievable. Then they wonder why I’m a thief? I’m not even a thief at this point – I’m PAYING MYSELF.

Before you question, from running a register, to delivering news papers, cleaning floors, to putting together a building.

Everything from TOILETS to laying TILE…

I guess the question here is how do any two people become such miserly squanderers.



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