Sunday, March 20, 2016

Smell of stale hurt

l walked inside and ran to the bathroom. I almost didn't make it. l walked out into my silent home, feeling like I should have disconnected my emotions but I had to pee SO bad. lmmediatly I am back, almost a year ago, to the day my children were stolen from me. Even with Most of them sleeping, this house felt so warm and alive. Now it smells like stale hurt, even though its obvious the pain Is still alive here. Even our friendly ghost is gone, everything that I was died here, and It was left to rot and decay. My memories, of a time full of love and joy, spring to life. The residue of that time is still left as it was, before misery came and took it all away.
  I push through it, ignore my memories as they mock my tears, I have to get clothes for tomorrow, when we bury my dad. Then I will go back to trying to outrun the ghosts of my happiness, if they catch me I will not come back, to continue my fight with the state of Mississippi and my mission to rescue my children from the jaws of their deadly foster care.