Merely Existing...

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It seems I simply can't be engulfed in something I'm passionate about so earnestly, because I'm afraid I cannot shake the feelings of regret and failure from certain situations I found and continually find myself in. My name is Ava Jones, and I was born on December 12th, 1996. It was cold as ice the day I came flying out of my momma's twat. I think even at that young age I was beastin' to make my grand entrance because her shit was consuming me, not trying to let me go. Resulting in her getting a c-section she would blame me for especially in the first half of my life living with her. It smelled foul in the streets of Atlanta, Georgia the night I was born. An abundance of odors ranging from gutter, struggle, and unwashed bodies filled the air. Most of these neighborhoods around where I grew up smelled the same; some areas you couldn't even walk through because there were a bunch of men and women laying on the ground, because they did not have any homes.

I wonder how America claims they love our people, yet so many civilians are without. I'm 26 now, just sitting in my plush Italian leather, smokey grey bedazzled armchair in my 4 room condo; reminiscing about how I made it so far. I am a social media influencer for a platform called BeYou. I have over a million dedicated followers who love to see me share pivotal moments throughout my everyday life. Maybe their lives are boring, or maybe they just love to see what I'm going to do next but truthfully I'm tired. I get dressed up in designer brands and fight with makeup every day just to look the part. I mean I'm naturally pretty, but I love to look a little extra. I'm 4'9 and 143 pounds, with skin the color of almond milk with silky melanated hues; with olive-green eyes. Compliments from my elders.

My grandmother Liane, was born in Barbados back in 1951 and traveled to the states illegally. She then met my Puerto Rican grandfather who was a resident of America. He agreed to marry her because she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on; he used to tell my mother their love story often. I pray that they have found eternal life in a different plane, and can still visit earth from time to time, in spirit; and are both looking down on me prouder than ever because their only grandchild has made a decent life for herself. They died back in 1986 due to racial tensions, between the police and minority communities. Leaving my mother and her only brother to be orphans. They grew up separated in the foster care system, a system that ruins a person's whole persona, even though the government believes they are doing a righteous service because their taxpayers pay god-fearing people; to raise kids other than their own in their homes.

In some cases people do get what the system was intended for, the care and nurture they desired from their wretched families. I never understood how mothers can be so cruel to their children, or how fathers could walk out on a face that's almost similar to theirs. If anything, having a child should motivate you to want to be the best version of yourself so the children can look forward to what life has in store, with the inclination that their role model paved the way.

My mother, Giana Jones unfortunately wasn't so lucky to have sympathetic, understanding, and affectionate foster parents. Instead, she suffered physical, mental, emotional, and sexual abuse from her negligent, unmindful, and disgraceful caretakers. To come from a home filled with love and understanding, to get thrown into the system, just to have to fight for survival made me a bit more sympathetic towards her growing up, as she always told me the stories. One thing I couldn't understand or forgive is the fact that she didn't know her worth. Allowing any man who would show her some form of attention, and the slightest bit of affection to get next to us.

I lost my virginity at the tender age of 9, to a man 25 years older than me, who was supposed to be in my mother's bed. Nights like that happened quite frequently. When I turned 12, I vowed to never allow another man whom I didn't choose to touch me because my body was mine! I remember that night so vividly, I remember it so well because my momma Giana Jones sits in cell block 523, up in Fulton County Jail, guilty of murder in the second degree for the man whose throat I slit while on top of me, the evening of December 12th, 2008.