My grandmother always told me,
that one day I would build my family.
Build my family?
Like chopped pieces of wood sanded and nailed
one atop another
shaped as I want them.
Build a family
not much like the one I have now
Where misconceptions and judgments etch our foundation.
Where one black sheep spawns another.
Where there are so many pieces and segments
of rotting wood.
My father was a meth addict
My mother jumped the same ship.
My brother I have only seen twice in my lifetime since the age of four.
One grandmother is passed, leaving nothing but the smell of wine
and the vision of cigarette smoke next to her oxygen tank.
One grandmother a Mormon, who turned a blind eye
As one grandfather scraped innocence from the inside of my ribcage, leaving me hollow.
One aunt, with her perfect little life, and the power to make mine feel so insignificant.
One uncle who pretends to take me as I am,
While I follow the path he envisions for me
One grandfather who I am sure loved me,
with one grandmother who sacrificed her retirement age to raise me.
All families have their issues, this is what we all say.
But when I came to you,
bony elbowed twelve year old girl
hair atop my head disintegrating from three dollar bleach dye,
every one of you could see the broken I wore
in the forefront of my chest.
I radiated hunger harder and faster the sun,
I consumed all of the life saving aids you provided.
I never learned quite how to say thank you for that
Me being there, I was insatiable.
I begged you not feed me in grocery bought items,
I learned a long time ago how not to need those things
I begged you not to shower me in cotton constraints,
because i learned a long time ago,
how to wear one shirt and one pair of jeans at all times.
I begged you not to push school,
because I once had to learn how to push myself.
I begged you not to rule with an iron fist,
My childhood taught me
that ruling myself was the only way I was going to get anywhere.
See I was not asking for any of these things,
these things I am told to be grateful for.
I starved for your affection,
for I love you's.
For that fabled existence of a family that would love me.
I met your stone cold authority with violent rebellion.
Do not tell me to grow up,
because I learned along time ago
that childhood is only a myth.
Closest to the best bed time story
where children attend one single school for five years.
Where play toys and best friends exist,
but only in these stories.
I came to you hollow,
begging you to flow into me,
and fill me with that grandmother love,
love I watched you hand out like candy to the other children in our family.
But it's always different when you live with them.
I know that you never watched me when I was little,
I know that you knew me,
for a few hours
before I got here.
I know that my father must've really broken your heart.
But I did not do these things.
I did not carve my past or choose this heartbreak
I would never have wished that upon you.
All I wanted was to feel summer sunshine love,
warm my chilled bones,
I wanted hugs and kisses and things that made us a beautiful,
broken, little family.
I may not have seen this in the things you sacrificed for me,
and I may still have trouble calling that the type of love I was looking for.
I am ever so grateful,
that you gave me the tools to learn what normal life is.
I am ever so grateful,
that with out you
I would be some cracked out nineteen year old
lining the las vegas strip
with a show of legs and kisses.
But I cannot pretend,
that sometimes I don't cry to the rising of the moon,
for the love I wanted too badly.
I carved deeper into my scraped out rib cage
trying to find something in me of worth.
I cannot lie and tell you that I have learned how even to love myself,
because I haven't.
My grandmother always told me,
that one day I would build my family.
I may not have gotten that far yet,
to have wooden carved children and a perfectly sculpted husband.
But I am gathering a family of love like I wanted.
They surround me with soft and eager hands,
they dig deeper into my bones,
and show me where the value sleeps.
I do not have a sister,
But I have a Jessica, with paint fingers that outline my contours,
Showing me the lines built to keep me in,
and to keep me from overflowing on rainy days.
I do not have a husband,
But I have a Spencer, with a gleaming iron exterior,
blocking the dark angry pain with in me,
soothing the insecurities and quelling my storm.
I do not have a daughter,
but I have a Suzanne, with wings so glorious,
she towers over my hunger,
making it feel so small.
And I may not have a son,
But I have a Jacob, with humor so gallant,
there is no sadness to conquer my laughter.
And I may not be sanding down the rough edges we all carry,
because I like it better this way.
A family built from love,
love radiating so bright,
we make the eyes of the world see nothing
but the light on our shoulders.