dee char {eleven} fin cbd2
Dec 31, 2014 9:20:48 GMT -5
Post by Azalea on Dec 31, 2014 9:20:48 GMT -5
dee char, eleven, seventeen
Family is defined by those who have it.I do and I don't. Is there a word for sucker punching someone in the heart? I need that word because not only would it define the destruction of heartstrings, but it would give me some sense of belonging. One word that is shared with the family—we've all felt it, whatever it is.Eight years old and the music in my ears was small glass bottles being slammed down on the bar. Sorrows drunk away; we were made to pull the plug on our love and start a new line. Escaped from the cage of alcoholics, I jumped free from my body.Ten years old and in my hands are an array of pictures to burn. Simpler times with knotted brown hair and standing tall and proud are told by unspoken words. It's not like that anymore—and I told myself that I'd do the best I could and that life didn't come with instructions and so, I should write them myself, following unknown rules and paths which led to missing pieces.It clicked.For a moment, at least. Fourteen years old and the weight in my chest is lifted. But if family is defined by those who have it; it is a mess. Openness never took me anywhere worthwhile or interesting; I slept at night on a head full of monsters. My youngest sister told me monsters aren't real—but these monsters were memories of liquor and leftover love which was so fake that it felt beyond real.Seventeen and I pledge allegiance to the blood of my own, stepping out of my sister's shadow to find my own. A broken coping mechanism means this strength is feigned.Family is defined by those who have it—family is one big shit show.