Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
JE Boothe Jul 2020
You opened your heart and your home
for me to start over from all I’ve known.

You listen as I open up and begin to share,
you help me understand this is not my shame to bear.

You can see the hurt running through my veins,
you patiently teach me how to heal from my pain.

You give me hope when all I feel is frustration,
you lead to the path of restoration.

You stand by me each and every day,
you love and support me along the way.

You are selfless, loving, and dedicated,
you are my hero that’s loved and appreciated.

You opened your heart and your home
for me to be loved and to know I’m never alone.
CarolineSD Aug 2019
The vague shadow of an ancient oak pulsing
Like an image through static
Through drifting fog
So thick that only the wind
Can lift it and let slip
The outlines of
Where I began.

My ancestry is incompletely buried.
The sharp rocks of drunken nights
Slice upon the roots
Disfiguring, pummeling, smashing,
Rendering mute the stories their craggy hollows could tell
Dissolving in that same fear
My grandmother must have known so well.

I don’t know how to find her,
To reconstruct a broken form
From all of these pieces,
These fallen leaves that
Drift like secrets,
Like the ones my mother
Whispered to me in the dark
When I was nine and old enough
To hold them, to hold her,
When she fell apart.

Because they took them, you know.
My mother, her sisters, her brothers,
The county clipping the roots like
Plucking flowers,
Like it was nothing at all to scatter
Children in the wind,
Like fallen leaves upon the shallows
Of some lonely pond,
Like broken branches
Overpowered by a system that
Only wanted them

So, you see,
It wasn't just the wind that ***** the tree,
But a system that decided
Whose voice to wipe away and
What to keep.

My ancestry is incompletely buried.
Sometimes, I'm sure I can hear her sobbing,
A broken, fragile song, emerging from the earth
Just where the roots, interlocking, stop
the dirt from completely blocking
The story of a battered woman
Buried for too long.

The vague shadow of an ancient oak pulsing
Like an image through static
Through drifting fog
So thick that only the wind
Can lift it and let slip
The outlines of
Where I began.

What if I run my hands along the bark,
The broken pieces, the empty spaces,
Where her voice might be?

Grandma, speak to me.
JaxDillon Jun 2019

At seven he had already moved more times than the total number of years he had been on this Earth
And this time, like the times before it, he moved with his belongings in a trashbag. Stolen clothes, stolen belongings.
A suitcase, at least, would have added a small degree of dignity, and confidence to the whole affair - to being "placed" in another and another and yet another foster home before reaching 3rd grade
Trash Bags break,  you know
Trash Bags can't possibly support the contents of any life, and certainly not a life as fragile as this
This is what the moving of kids in foster care is like
JasFow Feb 2019
When I first was taken away
I didn’t like to speak
I had nothing left in me to say
My biding was done
So most days from sun up to sun down
I sat at the dining room table
Surrounded by large windows
Letting in natural light eliminating the house
I sat and looked out the windows
Facing out the to the East
The large field grew tall with unkept grass
The trees barely blocking anything
Green everywhere in sight
And horses
Real horses running around in their yard
Not a mile across
Spending hours sitting, looking out
I’m not sure what for
I wasn’t searching for anything
Just glancing out with scratched glasses
Not focusing on any one thing
Mostly using the time to think
If things went any different
If what it was, wasn’t
If what would be, wouldn’t
Doing so for almost three years
But it now feels like a waste
It didn’t change a thing
Foster care is still foster care in the end
Now a part of my past
Thank God it didn’t last
And thank you to my now parents
For the adoption
As long as I had my sister with me, nothing else mattered.
Deb Jones Oct 2017
I carried you for almost 7 months.
A small person in
My small 14 year old body.  
I loved you with passion and fire.
I would whisper songs to you
Because I was not allowed to sing.
I would hold pillows as practice.  
To holding you.
I would read to you in a whisper
Because he was illiterate.
And was jealous I knew how to read.  
I lost you in a bathtub.  
It was the place I crawled to when
I saw the blood.
We didn't have a phone
I couldn't call anyone.
I cried for my mother
As I clawed at the porcelain.  
I screamed for her
As I clawed at my swollen stomach.
The blood flowed.
I watched it pool at the drain.  
Light at first, watery
Growing darker by the minute
Then begin to flow heavier.
The pressure to push was immense.
I wasn't even knowledgeable enough
To know my ******* would be in the way.
Until I felt your head inside them
I tore them off.  
And you slipped out
Like a little eel.
You were perfect.
I held you and threw my head back
And looked at the spotted
Rain damaged ceiling.
When I delivered the placenta
I thought my insides were falling out.
I knew before you even came into the
World that you would never see it.
You had stopped moving 5 hours before.
My little girl child.
Who was killed.  
Stomped out of me by her
Own 19 year old father.
Because I refused to iron a shirt for him
To go out on a "Date"

He came home the next morning.
Still high.
I had wrapped you in one of the two
Baby blankets I had.
After I washed both of us in the tub.
Where I marveled at the beauty of you.
All of your tiny fingers.
All of your tiny toes.
The way your legs were a froggy pose.
The roundness of your tummy.
The softness of your palm
Which is where I whispered
I love you over and over again.
I sobbed how sorry I was
Over and over again too.
As I cradled you naked
In my arms.
In that old bathtub

I begged him to bury you.
He refused and left for work.
Ran really. He ran out the door.  
I didn't know it was ******,
I didn't know it was illegal.
So I buried you like I would
A beloved pet.
In my favorite purse.
With you in a diaper
Swaddled tightly in that baby blanket.
Under a tall palm tree.  
Away from the scorched side
That I had burned the month before.
I only had boys after you.
I think you would have
(Loved life) Loved them.
You are only 10 months older
Than your oldest brother.
I still have your baby book
All the notes I wrote for you.
I stopped writing in that book
The day before I had you.
There are no words to say
Nothing that could've been writ
That I haven't said a million times
In my mind and heart daily.
Mine were the only arms that ever held you
Mine were the only eyes that seen you
I will carry you with me every day of my life

I hate ceramic Cherubs.
They remind me too much of you.
You never had a chance to live.
You didn't have a proper death
Beneath the rain stained ceiling
In that ramshackle shack.

I have lost 2 babies. One was stomped out of me at 7 months. One that I miscarried.  

I personally would not have an abortion but I feel that every woman has the right to choose. I will never judge.

I have seen too many women have spontaneous abortions. One memorable one is a 13 year old who delivered a baby at approximately 20 weeks. I intubated and used a resuscitation bag between her legs because the baby was only half delivered. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the child's waist. She didn't survive.

The fetus starts developing the heart, spinal cord, kidneys etc... at about 5 weeks, at 6 weeks the heart starts beating, the baby can have hiccups, **** on their hand and grow fingernails.

I feel very sad that some women don't carry to term. I have had a lot of patients with Down syndrome. They are filled with happy love. And give the most loving hugs. But most also need lifetime care. (Unless extremely high functioning) who will love and protect them after the mother is gone? These are valid thoughts we women have. Not just about the wellbeing of the young baby but the adult child.

I have also supported women who via ultrasounds/sonography find that the baby has Anencephaly. This is not such a rare thing as people think. No brain or the skull is open. The prognosis for a baby like that is typically less than a day after they are born. Some women want to carry to term just to hold their baby. Some women choose to abort.

My sister had a Anencephalic baby. She found out at almost 6 months. She was injected with seaweed to widen the ****** and to absorb the moisture in the ******. Basically killing the baby with salt and suffocation. Then the baby was removed in pieces. I did not tell her the details of what was happening to her body. She would have been traumatized more. And honestly? She wouldn't have wanted to know.

I think the majority of women that choose abortions mourn their child. Your body is  forced into thinking it had a baby. And most women go through a period of postpartum feelings including depression.

I worked for years in NICU. A neonatal intensive care. Some babies were born at 1 pound or less. The thing about working with pediatrics, neonate in particular, is that you see some horrific births. Chromosome anomalies that don't survive to even childhood. And the traumatized parents are heartrending.

Sorry for writing a book. I feel passionate about this subject. I will stop here
I was married at 14. A choice my mother made to emancipate me from the courts as a foster child.
indigochild Dec 2018
When we were younger and didn’t really know how the world worked, we heard the story of our parents going into a patch and choosing their baby.

I often tell my family that I went into a patch and choose them.
Jey Blu Mar 2018
I need to break free from these binding thoughts holding me down and tearing me up mind and heart racing in sync wondering if I'll fly or I'll sink I'll probably fall attempting to jump this wall of insincerity living or dying its all just the same dates in some notebook no hall of fame live your life but not my way just yours I have no choice but to come when you call down at your feet is where I will fall drawing me in with false love and hope  controlling my life like I'm some sort of dope I am not finished don't interrupt me until I say what I say I'm using my voice I'm calling your name now listen to me or get out of the way
Jey Blu Mar 2018
I miss you kid
I miss your sarcastic comments
I miss the way you frustrate yourself doing your hair
I miss your obsessions
I miss our song
I miss dancing in my room to your cds
I miss fighting with you over stupid things
I miss your chipped nails
I miss your glasses too far down your nose
I miss your references
I miss knowing all your crushes
I miss teasing you
I miss you teasing me
I miss **** date or marry
I miss your goody two shoes side
I miss your rebel side
I miss how proud you were of yourself
I miss your old confidence
I miss doing your makeup
I miss laying down and looking at the clouds
I miss everything
I missed you growing up
I missed you changing
I missed you becoming who you're not
You're gonna be in seventh grade in 6 months
And I'm not sure if I'll be there to see you off
I just want to be back with you
It's so scary being alone at that house, I know
I'm so proud of you and I love you
Stay strong kiddo
I hope you see this Abby

Update: She did
Jey Blu Mar 2018
You're too young
You don't need the stress of knowing
How about the stress of not knowing
You expect me to be fine
Not knowing if my little sister is coming back
You expect me not to be *******
Not knowing if I'm staying
You expect me not to be scared
Not knowing what happened to my brother
You expect me to trust you
Not knowing who to believe
You put words in my mouth
Not knowing what to say
This situation
Is frustrating as ****
And you expect me to be okay
Well news flash

im not okay.
storm siren Oct 2016
You clipped my wings
For years.
Subduing me through medications
That now I take to help me.

You clipped my wings,
And for what?
To watch a downward spiral
Of regret and turmoil,
And you'll never be proud of me
Unless I turn out just like you.

You clipped my wings,
But I've grown brand new feathers:
I'm flying and I'm soaring.
This life I have just proves
That your judgment and scorn is boring.

You used to clip my wings,
But you don't have a hold on me anymore,
And I know it's driving you absolutely mad
Watching me soar.

You used to clip my wings,
And I'm so glad that you're not in charge,
Because this is my life,
And I know that drives you crazy.

You used to
And still are trying to
Clip my wings.
But you can't,
I won't let you.
I'm just who I have to be.

You can't clip my wings anymore.

It's time to let birds of a feather
Flock together.
Please just stop. (In reference to my father who would rather me become a little him instead of do what I believe is right for me)
Next page