Dear Mommy,

Dear Mommy,
My body hurts so much, Mommy.
All because I made a mistake.
One silly little mistake.
A mistake that could have been avoided, if I had have just thought before I spoke.
Thought before I acted.
But no, Mommy, I did not think.
Not thinking is the reason I am in the hospital, my whole body bruised and battered.
No, Mommy, it's not his fault.
It's no one's fault but my own.
I know he loves me, he doesn't mean to hurt me.
He's trying to teach me how to be a good girl.
He makes me hurt when I do the wrong thing.
But that's okay, Mommy.
He's helping me be a better child.
If I was just a good little girl like he tells me to be, I would be fine.
If I listened to him, and did as I was told, my skin wouldn't have marks, my bones wouldn't be broken.
I'm just a naughty, silly little girl; and he's my teacher.
Thank him for teaching me right from wrong, Mommy.
I know I do.