I am Three.

September 15, 2016 A very personal autobiographical open poem about finding myself.

I am Three.

Split in half by the separation of my parents, I was broken.

In the lavish world in which my father resided, I was a pretty puppet.
Dresses of tulle and red-soled heels I could not remember names of tried to befriend me, the hollow fragrance of a thousand expensive perfumes combining in the four-floored mansion to emit an odor of ostracism.

Did I
Enjoy
Being here?

It was a world of materials. Nothing was genuine. Yet it is the only thing my mother regrets leaving behind when filing those papers.

Then why am I not
Smiling
When I’m here?

A Maybach Mercedes opens its doors to return me to the airport. I won’t see it again until next year, and I regret not having tried harder to be happy. If only I’d get one more day, I could turn into the daughter my father wanted, and maybe he would finally tell me he loved me
and mean it.

But did I
Really
Want that?

The airplane’s doors open on the grounds of my home city.

The warm aura of love and genuine happiness buzz between my Mother, little sister, and I, as I rush to embrace them. It may only have been a week, but how I’ve missed them. I am home.

Is this
Where I
Belong?

During the day, we laugh together. We go on last-minute adventures and midnight trips to McDonald’s. We watch TV shows in the park with Popcorn and Smoothies.

But during the night, we cry alone.

We move four apartments in one year, eviction after eviction. In the mornings I attend a private school financed by my Father, my chance at an independent future, filled with reflections of his world.
I think it won’t last, because the tuition payment keeps being delayed and
Delayed
For no reason,

While his new golden Bentley arrives in his mansion.

Because I had been attending the school for years, led the Student Council, and never missed a listing on the Honor Roll, they allow me more time.
And more.
Until seven months have passed and exams are coming near. They take me out of class until
The tuition is paid
in time for the next bill to arrive
And the cycle to start
all over again.

I return home to find an official taking away our valuables, the rent bill frowning sadly on the table.

I hug my mother as I look down at the apprehensive face of my little sister, whose smile believes she will one day get the same education I did. It breaks her father’s heart that he cannot afford it, although I have not given up hope.

I will be a beacon for my sister and mother. Where she failed, I will not. Unlike her, I am not being married off at 15 years old. I am 19 and a first generation college student. I do not have dreams. I have goals.

This is
The real
Me?

No. I am more than two halves
Of a broken child
Growing up with a scar
In her heart.

I am me.
I can be allowed to dream.
I can be allowed to seek love
In others than my father.
I can be allowed to let my soul seep out
And touch those around me
Without fear of what they may think of my smile.

I can be allowed to be
Happy
For that is not something my circumstances decide for me.

I am three.

I am my father’s doll.
I am my mother’s everything.
But most importantly,

I am
Me.

Reviews

[Tammy Hendrix]

Outstanding! I love how the girl questions everything, every situation rather than just laying down and accepting. That shows her her strength and stamina; her determination in life. This may start off broken but its end result is empowering! Well done!

[erlance]

Thank you so very much! :)

[Writer at last! Sky ~]

I don't have words to express my feelings after reading your poem. Life is cruel, time is hard, dreams are unchased but I'm not done at all because I am Me. Heartfelt but I wish you lots of blessings for you my friend.

[erlance]

Thank you so much!

[Writer at last! Sky ~]

Your most welcome my friend :)

[Gee]

I like this. I'm the product of a failed marriage, foster and kids homes whenever mum needed respite from bringing up seven kids with little or no money. It has shaped me to appreciate everything I now have, a beautiful wife and daughter, nice home, well paid job and a love for life. What doesn't kill you......never a truer word said

[erlance]

Thank you! Wow, that's quite a childhood..I'm glad you used it to fuel your strength! It really does make you more appreciative and grateful.