immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
Waiting for Me
I knew you before I knew myself; your smiles, laughter and eyes that sparkled, almond brown, back at me when I dared to look into any mirror, anywhere. You were blooming, not with sustenance nor with proper acknowledgement, you burrowed deeper, hidden behind my skateboard, my cigarettes, my unwanted peach fuzz. I resented you for being me; for stealing my place, my ease, my friendships. I despised you for pushing me forward, tossing me to the wolves, the haters, never caring to hold me tight. No one wants to be me, the unwanted babe, the banished boy in cohorts with a pushy budding young woman. I avoided you, I tried to smother you over and over for what, WHAT?; in this world what could you give me but rejection, hate and fear. I am like driftwood, washed up onto the rocky beach, stepped over, casted back to sea only to wash up again unwanted. I lost my father because of you, he unwanted me. You just had to take over my life, make my every moment hell. I sit in the shower broken; my body does not reflect you. My heart longs for love yet who will love this pain, this budding flame of dreams? I don't want me; how can anyone else? I have played and paid and now, with stacked dishes in my sink, dirty clothes on my floor, a room with a bed unmade I sit and I wonder why the hell I was born to be me in this creepy, stupid world. I am sensitive, smart and funny but that will never be enough. I am a weirdo to white guys with mohawks and big, black boots. Stomp, stomp, THUD! Will I one day be under their feet? Kicked, beaten to a bloody heap of white bones just like theirs? Will I relive my rejection from my father over and over and over or will there be a miracle? I lay low. Why the hell would I flaunt my femininity to appease those in charge at the clinic to recreate me? I am Frankenstein, an embarrassment to those whom I loved. My hair is falling out, I cry when I shave every morning. The one thing, the one person rather, I have is my mom. Somehow, for some I just don't know reason she keeps believing in me; she loves me and shows up. I have deceived her so many times, broken her heart and frightened her yet she continues to want me. I am never sure about anyone else. Never sure, never. I don't go outside unless I have no choice. The bus scares me; will my she in me be seen? She is stronger and emerging faster than my confidence. I keep my head down, stare at my phone in my oversized hoody hoping to just get to where I am supposed to be. When I get to where I am going I am still awkward and keep quiet. They see a brown boy, a lost case in a system of losers. At least that's what I think. Can I trust them to help me when I am amber in a porcelin boutique? Never know, never know. Mom texts me too much 'cause she worries. I guess she should be concerned; nothing seems to flow easily in my world, my burnt out boy, my screaming girl; my GOD, I am my twin. My eyelashes are long, my eyes are always wanting to cry, but I don't do so anymore, well, not that much. What does it do other than make my mom sad? Does anyone NOT see me as a freak of nature? I mean, other than mom? I don't understand why I should be PROUD when the whole damn world is grateful they don't have a kid like me. I get hugs from my mom, nice words from my doctor, sweet messages from far away aunt. I honestly do not know how long I can hold on to me. Alone. Me, myself and us. Transgender is not something I would have chosen. Why would anyone want to put a fucking sign on their door that said, "beat me"? That's where I am now. At the door. My life is wrapped up and placed in the bottom drawer of my dresser; there is no happiness, just lonesome, unwanted thoughts. My heart beats so loudly when I lay still; my she is free when we turn off the lights, look up at the stars and safely under the blankets look at texts from mom saying stuff like, " goodnight sweetie", "How are you?", " I miss you". When she says that I am her daughter, I shine, just a bit before my light goes out again.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Families
Why This Christian Isn’t Raising Her Children In A Church.. Content Warning.
I live in the Bible Belt, in the beautiful state of Tennessee. My state is famous for several things: The Vols, Memphis and Elvis, Rocky Top, Dolly Parton, Trees and Jesus. I love my state, and for the most part, I love my community.
By Hope Martin2 years ago in Families
Whispers of the Moonlit Sonata
In a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and historical forests, there lived a younger girl named Seraphina. Her presence was once as ethereal as the moonlight that bathed the village in silver radiance each and every night. Seraphina's existence was once intertwined with the refined notes of a mysterious sonata, a haunting melody that appeared to linger in the air, fascinating the hearts of these who heard it. Legend had it that the sonata used to be a advent of a long-lost love, a musician who poured his soul into the composition as a token of affection for a girl named Isabella. The love story used to be tragic, ending in separation and despair. The sonata, however, persisted via time, its echoes weaving into the cloth of the village's history.Seraphina, drawn to the haunting splendor of the sonata, frequently observed herself wandering thru the moonlit streets at night, her coronary heart resonating with the melancholic melody. One evening, as she strolled alongside the cobbled paths, she observed a mysterious determine enjoying a grand piano in the core of the village square. The moon solid a mild glow on the musician's face, revealing a despair expression.Intrigued, Seraphina approached the pianist. The stranger wore a cloak that regarded woven from threads of moonlight itself. The piano keys answered to the musician's contact as if enchanted by using a spell. The sonata crammed the air, its bittersweet notes carrying the weight of untold testimonies and unstated emotions.As the closing chord dwindled into the night, Seraphina discovered herself spellbound. The mysterious pianist grew to become to her, and their eyes met. In that moment, an unstated connection sparked between them, as if they shared a secret language acknowledged solely to their hearts."Who are you?" Seraphina asked, her voice barely a whisper.The pianist smiled, a unhappy but spell binding expression. "I am Elias, a wanderer in search of forgotten tales."Elias shared the legend of the sonata and its origins. Seraphina listened intently, feeling the threads of future weaving round them. It was once as if the sonata had chosen them to be the protagonists of its ongoing saga.In the days that followed, Seraphina and Elias explored the village together, uncovering hidden corners and forgotten tales. The sonata accompanied them, echoing thru the hills and valleys, developing an spell binding soundtrack to their burgeoning connection.As their bond deepened, so did the mysteries surrounding the sonata. The villagers, at first skeptical of Elias's presence, started to trust that the track held a key to long-lost secrets. Rumors of a hidden treasure, a legacy of the misplaced lovers, delivered an air of exhilaration to the village.One fateful night, beneath the silver cover of the full moon, Seraphina and Elias accompanied the sonata's path to the ruins of an historical citadel on the outskirts of the village. The air crackled with anticipation as they found a hidden chamber, its partitions embellished with symbols and inscriptions.In the coronary heart of the chamber, they located an ornate chest containing a series of letters, sketches, and a worn diary. It chronicled the love story of Isabella and the musician who had composed the sonata. The treasure used to be now not gold or jewels however the legacy of a love that had transcended time.As Seraphina and Elias examine the poignant tale, the sonata swelled in the background, as if the spirits of the long-lost fans had been present, blessing their union. The village, as soon as shrouded in mystery, now reveled in the rediscovered love story, and the sonata grew to be a cherished image of enduring love.Seraphina and Elias, certain by means of the threads of destiny and the haunting melody of the sonata, endured to wander the village, weaving their very own love story into the tapestry of moonlit nights and whispered secrets. The legacy of the sonata lived on, a timeless ode to love and lunacy that echoed thru the ages.
By Devi Thavasi2 years ago in Families
The Significance of Family Love
1. Introduction: Recognizing the considerate effect of family love becomes progressively important in the fast-paced world of today. Let’s Join on a journey to explore the true essence of family bonds, as we discover the importance of cultivating and maintaining a connection based on love and respect. This perceptive preface sets the groundwork stage for discovering effective ways to form and maintain a familial bond that not only withstands challenges but thrives with long-term love and support.
By Omprakash Gupta2 years ago in Families
Harmony in Healing
The crisp autumn air carried a sense of nostalgia as Emma strolled through the park, the fallen leaves crunching beneath her weary feet. She clutched a faded photograph, a snapshot frozen in time that told a tale of laughter and vitality. But the woman in the picture seemed like a distant echo, a melody fading into the background of a symphony that once resonated with life.
By Kepler Oates2 years ago in Families
Sad Songs. Content Warning.
I knew who Roberta Flack was at a very early age; God knows I heard every song she sang. I love her still, yet undoubtedly she reminds me of him. Daddy sat with his record player on the floor, his legs crossed in what some called, "Indian style" which by the way is not correct to say now. I don't know any other word to describe it though. He would smoke Marlboros, drink cheap beer or dark wine and cry. Daddy cried a lot. I did not know why way back then. As a broken woman now, well, I guess he had good reason. Nothing soothes the soul more than music. We remember who we are, where we were, why we smiled, all because of music. Late at night I miss him despite his need to keep moving, not only place to place but woman to woman. I was his only until I wasn't. My Momma loved him even when he was cheating, threatened with statutory rape by an underage girl's parents and that left us broke, Momma scarred and lost in his wake. Momma took up more than one job and he didn't help us one bit. He told everybody he did help us though. He was always so charming, as smooth as chenille, and oh so handsome just like a movie star. His lies were so believable it made anyone who contradicted him look bad, let's just say, he had a hold on people; good people who believed in him sometimes questioned other good people who were also up against a wall with their truths, their own 'believe it or not stories', that were entwined with his lies. There were so many others than me with their own broken up dreams, their need to feel safe, to be heard. I was part of his tribe until I began to remember and as always girls like me are just considered delusional. I have half sisters and brothers, too. None of them really want to know my story 'cause it messes up theirs. I remember his fourth wife coming to live with us. She did not want a daughter older than she, I mean who would? She believed in him after I had given up a million times and damn, she was cold. It was clear there would be no place for me in my nostalgic, narcissistic, father's life once she set foot in the door. Where should I be, where should I go? She not only wanted me out from my father's home, but just gone, like in disappear. It was a slow burning fire and I was not about to see my, at that time, only baby sister be distanced from me. Suddenly, at least to me, this wife became the accessible one, the reliable one, the Alpha. Losing my baby sister's faith in me when I had taken care of her alone, when he was drunk and falling all over the place felt like a wasp sting in the heart, hell, a whole hive of wasps stinging me to near death. To watch him manipulate and groom this new woman younger than myself was, and still is, an unnerving experience. I know deep down my sister loves me, yet she became the good one and nobody saw the good in me anymore. So, back to my father's love of a good time I remember us flying down the highway in a convertible and blue grass music was blasting; I hated the wind so I was scrunched down into the backseat floorboard. He had a girlfriend I liked a lot who had a dachshund named Lucy. Anyway, in that little space between two leather bucket seats I saw my daddy's hand slip over to his girlfriend's legs, then he moved it up to the top of her pants and wedged it down the front. What the heck was he doing? He then started talking about cotton, rubbing her and saying how he missed her little cotton. I was frozen. It did not come to my mind until I was a young teen; after babysitting somebody from church's kids the father drove me home. He smelled like booze and at a side road he slowed the car down, he put his nasty hand on my thigh and leaned in to kiss me. I knew right then to push him away as no way he was going to try to touch my cotton. He said something about he had the wrong impression. I was fourteen, what impression did I give him? When I got home and went inside, just like always I said nothing. The wife of this man would call and ask me to babysit and I'd say no and Momma didn't understand; I was so afraid to tell her. What is wrong with me? I ask myself this a whole lot lately. My little me pushes through and wants grown up me to deal with my creepy past; I wish my memories could be stolen. I'd do anything to sleep through the night and not remember no more.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Families
Love's Serendipity
In the enchanting village of Oakwood, where time seems to dance to the rhythm of nature's symphony, fate weaves its intricate tapestry of love and destiny. Amidst the tranquil beauty of winding pathways and ancient oak trees, two souls find themselves drawn together by a force beyond comprehension. It is here, amidst the whispers of the wind and the gentle caress of sunlight, that their extraordinary journey begins
By hassen fraih2 years ago in Families
Empire of shadow
Over the course of centuries, the illustrious House of Roths.child has wielded unparalleled influence, seamlessly blending familial solidarity with an unwavering pursuit of profit. Originating from humble roots in an 18th-century ghetto in Frankfurt, Germany, the Roths.child Banking Dynasty has carved an unlikely path to becoming the most formidable financial powerhouse of its age, shaping the realms of international finance, wars, and politics.
By Abdulmalik Habib2 years ago in Families
Provide Safety and Foster Independence by Answering Your Autistic Loved One’s Many Questions
“Why do we do it this way?” “Why is everyone mad?” “What does this mean?” “What did I do wrong?” As an autistic/ADHD person, I’m both a bottom-up thinker and an explicit learner, so the way I learn new information is by asking lots of questions and getting detailed explanations in response. The more details I receive, the better chance I have of forming a complete picture in my head of what’s expected of me–and being able to carry out that task.
By The Articulate Autistic2 years ago in Families
What My Mother-In-Law Gave Me
I knew my father-in-law liked me the moment he saw me. He was sitting at his computer desk when his son introduced me to him. He glanced at me over his shoulder and then dropped his mouse and swiveled around, giving me his full attention. Contrary-wise, my mother-in-law did not look at me. She looked at everything and everyone but me. It seemed like she was too preoccupied to notice that her son was trying to introduce a girl to her.
By Stephanie Van Orman2 years ago in Families
