My family thinks it’s weird that I share my personal life with strangers worldwide; that I tell people where I’m from and what I feel. They worry people who know me and read/listen to my bullshit will use it against me. But if my vulnerability and openness make others feel less weird with their emotions, then it’s worth it. No one uses my feelings against me more than I do anyway. I beat myself up every time I progress and then go back; as the saying goes – two steps forward, one step back.
I began writing this before Father’s Day. On Father’s Day, I lost my shit. I was an emotional mess and couldn’t keep my promises to anyone. Instead, I retreated to my basement, where it was dark and cold; I binged Never Have I Ever and cried. My phone in ‘Do Not Disturb’ I used this time to reflect and let my body feel all the feelings. I hate Father’s Day. It’s hands down one of the worst days of the year for me.
Now here we are. The day after the fourth anniversary of my stepdad’s sudden/unexpected death, a man I simultaneously loved and hated, and just days before the third anniversary of my father’s death, a man I only had any emotions for because of his relation to me. When I think I’m progressing with my mental health, an anniversary of something terrible comes up, and I take one step back. I somehow come out on top; I remember where I’m from and can handle this too.
I tried writing the remainder of this blog post 1000 ways, and none of it worked for me. So, instead, I wrote a slam poem. Maybe one day, I’ll do a reading of it. Enjoy.
Where I’m From
In the streets of St. Louis, where I’m from,
Fights and chaos under the scorching sun.
A brick flew through our window; uninvited guest,
But I stood tall, faced each challenge with my chest.
My mother, a survivor, a wounded soul,
Escaped the horrors that tried to take their toll.
Raised in a home of Southern Baptist faith,
Where darkness lurked, it left its haunting wraith.
Imagine the scene,
a white woman with pride,
Introducing her brown baby, a turbulent ride.
1989, a time of racial divide,
Yet I emerged, fierce and undenied.
Intelligence burning within my core,
But they saw it as a tool, nothing more.
Pressure piled high, expected to save,
Rescue them all, my strength they would crave.
In the nomadic dance of my early years,
Moving from place to place, shedding endless tears,
Rundown apartments and trailers, my transient abodes,
A constant shifting ground beneath my weary load.
Each new home brought uncertainty and change,
Instability clung to us, an unwelcome exchange,
But through it all, resilience took its stand,
For where I’m from, strength was forged by hand.
My dad departed, leaving scars unseen,
While mom’s boyfriends came and went, it seemed.
At nine, a stepdad appeared on the scene,
His cruelty saved me, a twisted regime.
A haunting past, at fifteen, it struck,
Assaulted, violated, my soul awestruck.
No one would believe me, silenced and denied,
Yet I rose from the ashes and refused to hide.
Food, a fragile thread that brought us near,
But hunger often whispered no money to spare.
Archaic rules dictated my path,
Church’s abusive grip, the aftermath.
Brainwashed, I learned to hate my own skin,
Eating disorder emerged as my battle to win.
Control over food, when all else seemed lost,
A desperate attempt to mend what life had tossed.
Love for my family; it will never fade,
But where I’m from, I chose a different shade.
I broke the cycle, refused to succumb,
From the ashes, I rose, and a new life began.
This is my anthem, where I’m from, my story,
A testament to resilience and embracing glory.
I’m not defined by the pain I’ve endured,
I’m a survivor, undefeated, strong, and assured.
Call To Action
Life is hard and heavy for a lot of people right now. My call to action for you beautiful people is that you write and/or speak about what’s on your mind. It’s too much to keep it bottled up. You don’t need to be a good writer to write – just do it!
Until next time. XOXO,
Sam
