writingsthatwontbefound
BASTARD CHILD.
If you know me, you know I question everything. Like why we have to stay in our seats after the bell rings, why does the bus always manage to be late, or why the sun shined a little less bright the day you left. I remember the first day I saw you in two years. I took a deep breath before I walked into the restaurant you asked me to meet you at. It felt as if I sat down with god and the devil at the same time. You seemed so holy, it was almost unbelievable that you were sitting right in front of me. You looked like me. I studied your face. The reflection of you, in me, made me uneasy. Your eyes looked like they’ve been staring at skies for years trying to find answers. The way your chin came sharp, something like your face was made to look like you were trying to prove a point. I stopped to ask myself why now? The restaurant was so loud, but all I could hear was your silence. You started off casual by saying, “I’m sorry.” My mother taught me to question your sorries. s-o-r-r-y. if you spell it out, it doesn’t sound so bad right? The word sits on the back of my tongue. It sits back there like it was my fault or something. It sits back there like I owe you an apology or something.
I was a little girl who learned her own lullabies, and sung herself to sleep. I was a little girl who grew up. I was a little girl who didn’t want your sorries or your talk to soon’s. You told me you were facing your own demons, but you never faced me.
– I am that bastard child. I am every missed phone call, and every missed bring your father to school day. I am a broken home. My mother gave birth to me under sun, and sin. I am every forgotten “I love you.” at the end of a phone call. I didn’t want to see any of you in me.
– I am 18 now. Your face is nothing but a phone number to me. I am stronger now. I will not let anyone love me. I do not want something that I will not be able to face if it disappears just how you did.