One day I won't remember the way
You looked at me
Or the way you touched me
One day you'll only be that person
Who did a bad thing.

I'm from bruises
From fear and anger.
I'm from the backs of her hands
That I thought I deserved.
I'm from a life no child warrants.

I'm from tattered clothing
From malnutrition and neglect.
I'm from a heart
Ripped at every edge
Frayed at every seam.

I'm from "put up or shut up"
Where children are neither
Meant to be seen nor heard.

Memories held together by
The binding of a notebook.
I'm not from there,
At least not anymore.

Now I'm from stethoscopes,
From scrubs and white shoes.
I'm from the first breath of a newborn baby
To the last breath of a dying lady.

I'm from EKG lines that continue
To pulsate with each contraction
Of a bruised and battered heart no more.

I'm from a world where I'm not judged
By where I'm from
But where I've gone
And what I've become.

By Laurel LaChance

Don't belittle my dreams
Because you never reached yours.
Don't tell me I can't do it
Because you never could.
Don't treat me like the person you were
Because I am me
And you are you.
Don't doubt me
Because I will reach my dreams
And do all the things you never did.

Fall in love with moments and memories,
Not the pictures captured on your phone.
Fall in love with the people you’re around,
Not the likes you’ll get for being around them.
Fall in love with the season
As it gives you every little reason
To fall in love with yourself.

Once the nausea sets in,
You’ll realize that you were just emotionally punched in the stomach.
When you feel short of breath,
You’ll realize that all the air inside your lungs just dissipated.
After you feel weak,
You’ll realize your heart was just ripped from your chest.
And then you’ll feel dead,
Like your floating in a world between reality and a hell you never thought possible.
You’ll feel angry, sad, tired and emotionless all at once.
That, I believe, is what “hurt” is.

The four parts of that relationship went a little like this....


Part I
The chase. Oh how the chase must have made every ounce of adrenaline course through his body.

Part II
Attachment. She became attached as he slowly became detached.

Part III
Intensity. As her feelings grew stronger so didn't his fists.

Part IV
Abandonment. Stranded with nothing but the shattered pieces. Left with no one. Alone. To pick up the mess he created.