i still burn the candles

you left me when you died

the smell reminds me of being in your room

when you were my age

I wish I had spent more time on long drives with my mom and dad.

I wish I had spent more time sitting in my grandparents living room, in the cigarette smoke clouds with the cold cokes on each of the side tables, the TV blaring in the background.

I wish I had more memories of growing up with my family, but I don’t, because they weren’t there.

Growing up, I felt completely and entirely alone, but I have little glimpses of these memories that I know exist, but it doesn’t happen often.

I mourn for the child stuck in my 23-year-old body who wishes their mom and dad would just simply spend more time with them, because now it’s too late.

I feel for her because they barely know what their mother look like for the first 15 years of their life. I weep that their father kept entirely to himself in the garage, doing only what God and him know, instead of raising that baby girl.

I deserved better.

v.

i didn’t realize people could keep Spotify playlists you’ve deleted.

i made you a playlist when we were 16, and there it still was, all these years later. 7 years old.

v.

i see a lot of birth-givers becoming mothers to beautiful baby girls.

some that are close to me, most others aren’t.

watching their belly grow bigger with the anticipation of having a mini me in this world.

tossing name ideas, decorating nurseries, sharing love and laughter in anticipation.

was i not innocent and precious too?

to my knowledge my birth wasn’t joyous, nor the pregnancy, no anticipation, just dread and resentment.

it isn’t hard to see that these babies are innocent.

i don’t think i’ll ever understand the abuse of children.

v.