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"sit like a lady celty", mothers voice came in a hushed but firm to
ne from beside me. i was sitting the way i liked, cross legged on t
he church pew, my dress coming to my knees, the fabric stretche
d slightly. her command went unheard by me, i did not like when
she told me to 'sit like a lady' it was unnecessary, i was a lady so i
was sitting the way i liked. there was a sharp pain in my arm, she
was pinching me and pulling me towards her, "i said sit like a lady
.." this time her voice was less forgiving. i winced in pain, she oft
en would grip me when i did not listen the first time, which was o
ften. i begrudgingly kicked my legs back out, my feet did not rea
ch the floor, so they dangled while my neat black shoes clacked a
gainst the old wooden plank of the pew. my mother released me
as i obeyed her. i touched my arm, it stung and pulsed with pain.
i didn't like when she did that, i would often have bruises on my
arms. perhaps, i thought every once in a while, i should listen. b
ut each time mother called to me or told me something my mind
was elsewhere. in the clouds, climbing the trees, riding the wind,
singing with the birds. i was not listening, i was never listening.
i would watch the little ants pace about on the floor of the churc
h when the hymns would get boring and the songs dulled out.
ne from beside me. i was sitting the way i liked, cross legged on t
he church pew, my dress coming to my knees, the fabric stretche
d slightly. her command went unheard by me, i did not like when
she told me to 'sit like a lady' it was unnecessary, i was a lady so i
was sitting the way i liked. there was a sharp pain in my arm, she
was pinching me and pulling me towards her, "i said sit like a lady
.." this time her voice was less forgiving. i winced in pain, she oft
en would grip me when i did not listen the first time, which was o
ften. i begrudgingly kicked my legs back out, my feet did not rea
ch the floor, so they dangled while my neat black shoes clacked a
gainst the old wooden plank of the pew. my mother released me
as i obeyed her. i touched my arm, it stung and pulsed with pain.
i didn't like when she did that, i would often have bruises on my
arms. perhaps, i thought every once in a while, i should listen. b
ut each time mother called to me or told me something my mind
was elsewhere. in the clouds, climbing the trees, riding the wind,
singing with the birds. i was not listening, i was never listening.
i would watch the little ants pace about on the floor of the churc
h when the hymns would get boring and the songs dulled out.
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hush, little baby, don't say a word,
papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird.
it was rhyme i knew.. i hadn't heard it in so l
ong. hearing it as i swung on that old swing w
asn't a pleasant thing. i felt my stomach turn.
and if that mockingbird don't sing,
papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
he choked the mockingbird and stole the di
amond ring. it didn't mean anything to him.
│papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird.
it was rhyme i knew.. i hadn't heard it in so l
ong. hearing it as i swung on that old swing w
asn't a pleasant thing. i felt my stomach turn.
and if that mockingbird don't sing,
papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
he choked the mockingbird and stole the di
amond ring. it didn't mean anything to him.
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there was never a more peaceful time in my life then when i moved away f
rom home. the freedom of leaving my family behind. i was a stranger in my
own home growing up, i wasn't normal looking; pale and pink. i had to cons
tantly be sheltered from the sunlight, constantly babied and watched over.
special care was taken with me and my upbringing. i was like a porcelain d
oll locked up in my mother's china cabinet. though i wasn't even meant to
be looked at according to my mother. she hid me away for most of my life,
ashamed of the pale and awkward daughter she had birthed. i did my best
to listen and do as i was told but i couldn't seem to keep my feet on the gr
ound. my mind wouldn't focus on the things around me, for this my mother
would pinch me. i took most of the blame for my father leaving, he believ
ed my mother was cheating due to my complexion. though he would follow
my every move growing up, he kept in touch with my mother just to check
up on me, throughout the years believing i wasn't his.
in growing up i never broke, my spirit never shaken, i did not succumb to t
he mold that my mother tried to place on me. i was delicate as well, i was
still gentle, i was strong but not strong enough to ever tell her how i really
felt. but i can take a breath of fresh air without feeling choked or belittled
the pain in my arms have gone away now. there was not more suffocation.
i am happy. i am full. i am me.
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