My family and I have some very tough times.
Every single time someone reaches into my bucket, I think I am about to recieve some love but instead I am abused.
I am thrown into the air at great heights, but these wicked people don't seem to care about my fear of heights.
I am hit again and again and again, multiple times.
Sometimes my body gets grass stained or covered in dirt.
At least when it rains, it washes away all of the reminence of my abuse, but I do get a little chilly.
Sometimes people save me from my constant abuse by cradling me in their glove, it's nice and soft in there.
I am eventually tossed back into a bucket after a few hours of abuse, and get to visit with my wounded family.
I am a baseball.
only a baller would write this
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