Dig.

My memories are like seeds…

That have been cut in half.

Half of them grew

Half of them didn’t

And the ones that remain

Somehow wedged in the Earth,

Are broken.

They shift

They change shape

As they long to grow

To see the Sun.

Family Matters.

My past tells me there is nothing worse than family pain, but even worse than that is when it becomes public.
I remember trying very hard (in the moment) to not say or do anything I’d later regret, to rise above, and to grant forgiveness even though it was never asked for, even when I was being dragged through the coals unnecessarily or when I felt completely wronged. I stayed silent.

I said nothing in response to the character attacks, to the assassination that was me…
And I apologized for anything I could’ve done to deserve abandonment. And I stayed silent.


No one knew the truth. My truth. And I didn’t dare suggest it in order to not disrespect my family or out them in their privacy. Even though they ripped mine apart. I stayed silent.


In the end I apologized for things that I could’ve been accountable for, which were nill, but I did it anyway. I did it to reestablish the peace, not just for me, but for my household, the ones living amongst my pain and chaos. And then, I stayed silent.


After this was over, after I was forgiven, I never was afforded the same understanding. And I stayed silent.


It bothered me briefly, but I put it away and moved on…I stayed silent.

What I learned is that some people need to be understood in their own ignorance. That some people need left right where they are so that you can move on…
Some people will never get the opportunity to grow because they can’t allow themselves to see fault or accept any type of accountability or responsibility for their part that they played in anything.
And that is the true crime—the life that’s not lived. The stagnant soul. The one that refuses change. Change being the reason life’s worth living in the first place.


I’d rather be silent.
And love. And move on.