I am sorry,
It might sound a little weird
my story is never like yours
my process was not supported by law
But I still had to become
For I am,
The process of becoming teaches
But why is my own process with stitches
you all laugh and smile with your spouse
But never my parents
you all rejoice and speak freely with your father’s
But never my father
my process left wounds
and brought hate
But never joy
Sobbing silently so no one hears
was my mother’s free time hobby
waking up tired to a body that never rests was her task
watching her being beaten was part of my process
No one should know
but even my silence feels like a burden
waking up every day hopping for his change was part of the process
But wearing a smile like an armor so the world doesn’t talk
was the greatest deal I won
I felt like life lost me when I was still alive
it was no longer sadness
it became sorrow and part of my family
waiting for another day of sunrise was easier than 2:00am tears in the bathroom corridor
It wasn’t my fate
I wrote about it
as my process of becoming
and I am becoming
for I will.
By Brenda A. Juliet