Tears and Anger


I can’t. I won’t go in there. Not with them. Not in there. Not ever again. There is suppose to be people in every child’s life that take care of them. A mother and a father. Two separate beings whose love of their child transcends everything. They will cross heaven and earth for their child. For their child they will do everything to provide for the happiness of their offspring.eyes

I was born with a sense of destiny. I know what I want and what I need. Give me that one thing then I will be the nice and respectable young woman you want. What I don’t want is to tell my business to another social worker,counselor or PH.D. jerk.

They couldn’t satisfy the volcano inside of me. My English teacher might be proud of me for that metaphor. Maybe I could write a poem about my internal rage volcano and get some extra credit. Then I would have to admit that I understand some poetry. Not that boring shit that she reads to us, but other stuff. My secret stuff and yes I know that I am suppose to read along with her, but I don’t feel like it.

Just like I don’t have time to sit here and listen to everyone judging me, including my English teacher who now knows more of my business than she should. Everyone who thinks they know more about me then I do. They can’t. I am not angry because I have daddy issues or think I am always right.  I am angry at how unfair life is. Angry at the lies that have been sold to me.

It doesn’t come from my mother who isn’t so much angry as she is insane. That isn’t a hyperbole. She really is crazy. It runs in the family. Five generations of schizophrenic fun waiting for some brain doctor to study us and find nothing, because they don’t have any answers. Never have and never will.

Mom is gone. There is only one person who can help me. The man who has been both father and mother to me. The man who isn’t listening to me now as I shout. It isn’t a issue. It isn’t an issue. But if I am crying there is an issue. And I shouldn’t be dismissed. Every time, I am angry I am dismissed told to be grateful for what I have.  All I need to do is finish school, but I am not going to be happy until I have a car, a job and a place of my own. Or I am heard. I am tired of waiting. I don’t want to go to school after this twelve year sentence is over.

Things are switching around in my mind. Every time I am mad. Every time I feel like I am going to explode. They, he, brings up my mother and her family.  Another lie. Another shoveling of the truth off to someone else. The truth is I need to be heard and no one but my daddy should be telling me what to do.

No one, not even his wife . It doesn’t matter that she has taken care of me since I was kid. She isn’t my mother. She isn’t my mother. I have nothing to lose. Nothing.


If you’d like more information on Lucinda’s work subscribe to this blog, follow her o nTwitter or like her page on Facebook.  Her new novella, Blood Child is available onAmazon.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.