A not-so-poetic letter to a not-so-present step mom

Last night, I had a dream.

Most of the time, it wasn't very pleasant. And most of the time, it didn't make sense.

But when it was pleasant, and when it did make sense,
You were there.
Sitting with me.
Side by side.
I was surprised you could tolerate touching me for that long.

You were there.
Talking to me.
I was surprised. I had forgotten what your voice sounds like.

Most of the time, it's all me. I sit here carrying on a conversation that only one of us will contribute to. And that one of us, isn't you.

Most of the time, I sit here sending out apologies in the dark. Apologies that have no meaning to me. Because I have no idea what I did to make you hate me. Apologies that haven't been accepted over the last two and a half years. I hope there's a good reason, because that's a hell of a long time to hold a grudge against someone who's brain isn't fully developed yet.

Most of the time, I get scolded for not reaching out to you. But this isn't a one way street.

But all of the time, I wish you would talk to me.
All of the time, I wish I could find a way to make you happy.
All of the time, I try to convince myself that your happiness shouldn't affect mine.
But all of the time, I fail.

Last night, I had a dream.

Most of the time, it wasn't very pleasant. And most of the time, it didn't make sense.
But I don't mind.

A dream is just a wish your heart makes.

And in my dream, you hugged me back.

My not-so-lady-like side

I've never been good at being a girly girl.
Bare feet, dirt, and mud have always been more appealing to me than any dress, piece of jewelry, or shopping mall.
Sometimes, I burp like a man.
I've gotten more scars than anyone has ever gotten beauty pageant awards.
My feet have more calluses than there are stars in the sky.
And all though I don't wear the popular cake on my face, or walk gracefully on 6-inch stilts, or stain my lips the shade of love,
I can still present myself with class.

Smiley faces

It's happening.
 My emotions have reached the finger tips, which are now refusing to form the smiley faces that a part of me still wants to get out.
But how can I, When the rest of me is so consumed in this darkness that keeps coming back to feast on the light that it left behind?
The slivers of light that have kept me from toppling over in a heap of darkness on the cold floor.
I've defeated this darkness before.
But this time it's different.
Harder.

I just want my finger tips to form smiley faces again.

My family is disfunctional

You were doing so good.

Now you tick me off. Stop fighting and being dramatic!

My childhood pet is mine. Not yours.

She's not a raccoon, she isn't meant to sleep outside.

Stop telling me she'll be sent to a shelter.

Just because she is maturing faster than you.