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alexa Apr 16
when you see me, a girl with tan skin but her parents are black and white, what do you think?

do you instantly assume that my dad wasn't there? if you do, you'd be correct. do you think about whether or not i've witnessed violence? in and outside of the home? if you do, you'd be correct. do you think that i had to help with the bills because my single mother couldn't scavenge enough money to pay them by herself and no one would help her? if you do, you'd be correct.

truth is, i've never even considered being the definition of a stereotype. ever. people have always called me a "half-breed", a "*******", and infamously a "******" even though the hard r wasn't always pronounced. i've never been offended by their words though, my mom has taught me to have tougher skin than that.

i've always been a stereotype, though. i guess in some people's eyes that's all i am. a young girl living up to her background.

but the thing is, i know that i'm worth more than their insults, assumptions, thoughts, and doubts. i'm going to be more than a stereotype one day. mark my words.
Lemonade Dec 2018
Don't worry, I won't tell her about you.
Don't worry, her first word will always be "Mama".

Don't worry, I won't tell her about your deep love for strawberry milkshakes.
Though, she refuses to have milk in everything but strawberry shakes.

Don't worry, I won't bother telling her how good you were at volleyball,
I would tell her its a good sport to play.

Don't worry, I won't bother telling her science fictions are great,
I ask her to just give any of them from the shelf, a read.

Don't worry, I won't bother telling her that she can't bunk classes.
Because she is allowed to but, also read her textbooks later.
Though, she doesn't know how pridefully your attendance used to drop, then.

Don't worry, I won't bother not going to movies with her and yeah, she can choose them,
alternatively.

Don't worry,  I won't bother her to grow up.
She can always have brownies and chocolate ice cream in the middle of the night.
Though, she doesn't know how you used to be lectured for doing the same.

Don't worry, I won't bother asking her to learn singing,
she loves  Jazz dancing.
Though you never stopped moving your feet, to those Irish beats.

Don't worry, I won't bother saying how blowing bubbles and balloons were your favorite pass time.
It's her 16th birthday and all she wants is the party hall to be crowded with red and white balloons.

Don't worry, I won't bother telling her that black is the color.
I tell her that she can always wear black to dates and sometimes, they work out really well.

Don't worry, I won't bother asking her to give me a call
every once in a while.
Because she loves writing letters and mailing them to me.
Little does she know, about your handwritten notes that still hold a place in my diary.

Don't worry, I won't question her choices.
But, will for sure forbid her from falling for a man like you,  
who will soon fall for someone new.

Oh did I forget to tell you, she writes too.
It is a letter from a single mother to her ex-man.
Estelle Dec 2018
Gave us food, was eighty pounds, and barely in her twenties, giving us all the food she couldn't afford. Still somehow found a way to give me food and clothes, and toys, but it wasn't the same, because every other kid played with their mommy everyday, but I was seven and instead I watched her be in nothing but pain when she came home. Daddy walked away because he couldn't face "mistakes" and it's not fair, it's NOT fair, my childhood was taken away and I want it back but it's gone. Daddy only came back when I was fully grown, never had the family road trips, singing songs the whole way, didn't have the father figure, tucking me in, and my mom, she did all that she could, but three kids? By herself, never sleeping, and always tired, we were the loves of her life, that's what my childhood was, so what, it came and gone, want it back but in a different way, but I can't and that's okay, because I was raised right, with searing empathy. And now I know what I have. And what I don't need.
She breaks her own spirit from misplaced shame,
Afraid the world will know how she’s failing,
She never looks past the mirror for blame,
But wears a smile to hide that she’s ailing.

She guilts herself into constant giving,
But knows she needs to be taken care of,
Yet of that need she is unforgiving,
And of the fact that she’s not yet in love.

She’s constantly spinning out of control,
While frustrated she feels constantly stuck,
Lesser folks around her seem to live whole,
But asking for help makes her terror-struck.

Friends keep saying that she deserves better,
If only her neuroses would let her.
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
when I tell him about you...
i'm not going to lie.
i'm not going to tell him
you were a good man that wanted him
but couldn't find a way.

that would be a lie.

when I tell him about you...
i'm going to do my best to be honest
without breaking his little heart
the way I once thought you broke mine.

what would be the point?

when I tell him about you...
i will tell him about all the times
you made me feel happy, but not that
every one of those moments were dripping in guilt.

i want him to know you were good once.

i'll tell him you were in the military
i'll tell him you were a brilliant story-teller
that built beautiful intricate worlds that twisted and turned
just like our lives did when we met.

even better, i'll tell him how we met
over a D&D table surrounded by people
and how much hurt we could've avoided had we left the
friendship in the fantasy world our characters thrived in...

maybe i'll leave the nerdy bits out though...

when i tell him about you i will make sure he knows your name, i'll make sure he knows enough to paint a picture in his mind and hold on to, not to idealize but just to know. you were good once. But i hope to God he never finds you. i hope he never feels the way i do about you, full of resentment and disdain because you chose elsewhere instead of here with our son.

My son.

He deserves more than you could ever have given him anyway.
Amy Blanchette May 2016
My chenille duvet covers me
Consumes me
It has swallowed me up again and let me escape
To a world where the bills don’t exist
My homework is finished
The dishes don’t need to be done
The cats are fed and fast asleep
My son obeys to go to school and listen to his teachers

My chenille duvet hides my reality
The reality that
The bills still aren’t paid
The dishes are still there
The homework keeps piling up
The cats are at the foot of my bed, begging to be fed...again
My son has yet again skipped school and tried to come home, not knowing that i am under my duvet

My chenille duvet allows me to feel no pain
It allows me to forget
Even if for a little while
Under my chenille duvet, the world is silent
My feet are warm
My mind stops racing
My heart stops beating as if ravaged through my chest
I can breathe

Every day gets a little bit harder to leave my duvet
My old ragged gray soft duvet
I long for you during the day

On the days when i am in class and don’t have my homework to hand in, because i am so tired
On the days i get a call from my sons school asking where he is, when i know i dropped him off
On the days i get home, and the dishes are still there
On the days i get home from a 12 hour day, and realize i forgot to buy cat food again
On the days i come home and cringe going up the stairs as i pray they didn’t turn my electric off again.

My gray soft fuzzy duvet, I miss you
Why can’t you console me all the time?
I don’t want you to leave me
I need you to stay and make it all go away
Janine Jacobs Feb 2016
i am the book my son reads
and i often wonder what he sees
empty pages filled with the mundane
or a colourful piece of art

does he see my fearlessness
and my backbone made of steel
perhaps the circles under my eyes
betrays me

will he understand that life
is filled with moments that startle you
to heed the call of the world
and every adventure that beckons

i often stare at my reflection and wonder
am i, what he would want aspire to
fervently grasp opportunities and believe
to not settle for mediocrity

each time i boubt myself
i silently promise him
every part of me will strive
to better the next chapter he reads
Joyah Nov 2015
Hush dear child, Mama's got this.
Fear none, my shields are endless.
You and I, we're infinite;
Forever threading the waves of life.
Highs and lows.
Scars behold.
Together we'll rise unscathed.
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