Work In Progress

I am a work in progress...
A product of growth between promises that turned to lies and scarred the people who raised me.
I am a confused specimen carrying the load of someone else's burdens felt deep within my heart as if they were my own.
I am a child of a community that looks on me as if I were a stranger, but they don't know the history that surrounds my name.
I am a child of Reaganomics, R and B dominance... born when New Wave took hold and Disco cut it's own throat
I am that girl you see who yearns to be free but under the surface I've tied myself to a tree
I am silently trying not to be my father's child when my anger takes hold of me and all I know is that he's scolded me because I didn't put the pillow back in the right place...
Silently trying not to be my mother's daughter when she hit me in the face with her belt buckle... no apologizes, just disgrace...
I am the inexcusable result of years of abuse, the punishment of self that only a child can endure... aching, pleading, dying
I am the star of my own sitcom based on the non formal sense of normality
I am an unopened gift of regret and doubt, the lack of anger increases that which is not of worth
I am the childless mother who longs to hold the warmth of her child in her arms and cries when she must let go


I am...