baby fever...

everyone wants the baby and not the kid;
i knew i matured when i craved all the stages
when i craved being a mother not just to a baby but to a toddler

a child

a pre-teen

a teenager

a young adult

i crave to be a mother for all of my childs life
showing them the motherly love and affection i currently crave 
but never get.

today marks one year;
a year since i tried to take my life
today i can say with asurety
it gets better
today i can say with asurety
you matter
your worth
every breath.

late in the night quiet whispers echo through the house 
intrigued, i sit at the top of the stairs listening to your conversation
and since then i regretted it.

i've been the daughter that sits at the top of the stairs since i was 11
and i've never stopped 

for 6 years now,
i sit; hearing how you talk about me...
to your friends 
to your aunt's 
to dad 
to anyone that will hear you
and over the years i've learned you like to broadcast my sins
my mistakes 
you only see me as gossip for when the conversation falls quiet

last night i sat at the top of the stairs 
and that was my final straw
pure ******* rage grew inside of me 
almost hate.
you painted the most appalling picture of me
as if im still that girl
as if i hadnt gone to extreme lengths to get rid of who i used to be 

last night, i cried myself to sleep 
and when tears ran out;
the sorrow the lonliness settled in my heart 
as if they had a home there. 


i cant wait for the day i leave and never talk to you again.

in the kitchen, she moves like a storm
quiet, yet loud in her own way
her footsteps so loud and abrupt
she does as she pleases
leaving crumbs in her wake
clattering pots and pans
shes allowed to leave clothes on the floor
to take up space
to growl at the sky when the sun doesnt shine right
and we-
we are just the air around her
invisible unless needed
her mood dictates the mood of our home
we move hoping not to disturb her
for it will shape our breath
define our hours
make or break the day before its even begun
we smile while the tears form in our eyes
we hold still when we want to break
we tear ourselves apart to fit the form of her needs
shaping our lives to her wants
until we forget the shape of who we are