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staysha Apr 2018
As i watch the tears fall from my sister's eyes as she is dragged by her hair

Her whimpers as her face gets scraped on the concrete.

The ****** elbows, ****** knees, ****** face all covered in her salty tears

The hazy yet sorrow filled look in her eyes, As each step the officer takes brings more tears down her face.

The one who was holding me back so i could not go save her.

My tears OUR tears splashing on the parking lot.

The look on the policeman's face as he shoves her in his car.

My mom yelling because he hurt my sister and she did not deserve it.

Just let it go  
it’s over now.
It was years ago
Don’t be a baby
She probably deserved it
Thats all thats the reason you dont like cops
The things people say all running through my head making me confused.
It reminds me of the time when i did not share just kept the hurt inside
The hurt of being touched and feeling really bad
Of ****** harassment in my own bed
At the tender age of  6 my childhood began to crumble
And from there it was as though if i tumbled i would fall
Fall into a life full of sadness and depression
So at the age of 15 i decided to grab a knife and punish myself
Punishment for not helping my sister at the age of 7
Punishment for being a burden
Punishment for my pain
Punishment for the pain i have caused the tears that paved the way
And the thing i carved right in my leg was
Be happy
I had to be happy about today and about tomorrow
Happy about the pain
Push through it was all so long ago anyways
I had to make myself ok
Make myself better so i could be a hero
And rescue my family forever
As it continued i began to remember the things i have gone through
My mom moved away was it my fault?
My sister is addicted to heroine is that my fault?
My heart feels as though a tap would make it crumble.
And with that i continue to stumble
Stumble through my life pretending everything is normal
Worried that i will hurt someone and make them feel alone
Worried about what their lives are like at home
I cried myself to sleep night after night
And what i go for proof is the scars from that night
Oh yes i cracked eventually i broke down a sobbing mess
But in doing so told about the painful thing i did to my leg
I went to a therapist the 4th the 5th the 6th? Who knows what number this one is?
But what i do know is this
My pills seemed to stop working quite as well and know i feel as though my life is a lot like hell
I can’t fix it on my own
But why would i want to tell
I talk to my mom,my dad , both pairs but not together i talk to my sister who is doing fine but could always be better
I guess there is a redeeming part in the end
My family does not blame the way i did then
My family tells me they love me and they care
My family says they will be here for me even when i want to run
They will follow me for sure
When i say i'll run away
They all come run with me.
My family loves me this is true
But why i ask myself
But when i ask my question aloud the answer is yes
Yes we love your quirks yes we love your faults.
This is my story it is about me and it is true
Phil Lindsey May 2015
In Deutschland as the tale is told,
A clockmaker was growing old
After making near a thousand clocks
He was tired of all the ticks and tocks
He was satisfied with what he’d done
But had no desire to teach his son.
His clocks were made with love and skill
But of cuckoo birds he’d had his fill
So stepping back was his decision
And his clocks were built with such precision
That he hoped they’d run all by themselves,
And, as he looked upon his empty shelves,
With sadness and with pride,
He noticed that his only son was standing by his side.

The son looked up and saw a tear,
As his father said, “I won’t interfere,
My clocks will run, or they will not
Ich bin nicht ein Wundergott
Und Ich hoffe sie verstehen
Meine Uhren müssen allein gehen.”

Phil Lindsey   May 7, 2015
today- May 7, 2015 would have Mom's 83rd Birthday.  She passed away last November.  Not long before she died, upon being told she had inoperable cancer, she told the Dr. and several of her children that she had had a "Hellishly good life."  She was a tremendous wife, mother and friend to all she met.

I believe in God, but, like all who lose someone they love,  wonder why and how God administers His plan.  

   de·ism
    ˈdēizəm,ˈdāizəm/
    noun
    noun: deism
        belief in the existence of a supreme being, specifically of a creator who does not intervene in the universe. The term is used chiefly of an intellectual movement of the 17th and 18th centuries that accepted the existence of a creator on the basis of reason but rejected belief in a supernatural deity who interacts with humankind.

It is sometimes referred to as, "The Clockmaker Theory," or "The Watchmaker Theory"

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