This I don’t believe, it’s simple really. When everyone else goes to sunday bible school, wearing their little blue bows and their pretty pink dresses. I sit by my window in my darkend room watching as they walk next to their cookie-cutter, plastic-faced happy families. I turn my head sharply as I hear glass shatter aginst the cold cement floor in the kitchen.
My heart is pounding and my chest constricts as I hear daddy on the other side of the door screaming at my brother for his stupidity. I slowly creep on my hands and knees to my door, praying to whatever controls life that he doesn’t hear me. I creek open the door, letting in a small shimmer of light. I hear a deep thunk aginst the wall and a muffled gasp. My five year old eyes cannot comprehend why daddy is holding brother by the throat aginst the wall, or why brother looks terrified as daddy turns to face me.
This I don’t believe, it’s starange, really, a morbid fasination watching your family die right in front of you little by little everyday. To watch as slowly the life drains from their eyes and their laughs become hollow. Their smiles fake. You try to help them saying, “It’s ok. I still love you, we can get through this!” or “Once you hit bottom the only place to go is up.” They smile their fake smiles. Laugh falsly, as you dance on bullets wearing flamingo pink tights singing “I don’t want to be a chicken! I don’t want to be a duck! So kiss my butt!” On the top of your lungs. Just to see a small glimmer of life return to those dull eyes.
This I do believe, it’s intriguing really. Laying on a bed of nails waiting for the anvil to fall and crush you. To stare into the eyes of the ones you love and wish you never had met them, but so glad that you did. Taking pride in the choices you have made, even if there the wrong ones. I accept that you can’t get everything you want. But you sure a s hell can try. I hold onto the hopes and dreams of my grandmother and mother who sacrificed their very livelihoods, so I could have one of my own.
Yet, above all, I think that when you love something enough you should hold onto it. Until your knuchkles turn white and your muscles strain. Though if your love is not returned, you should let go and with good partings. I believe in love. The love of family, the love of friends. Love knows no boundries, love is colorblind and has no sex. Love has created wars, peace and new life. Love is an ameba. It changes form but never meaning. Love is the force that has the power to conquer all of us.
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