Fine Line

1

There is a fine line between living and being alive. When you're alive you're simply existing, going on day by day, night by night. When your truly living everyday is a new adventure, you look around knowing you have all day and night to make something out of your life.

I'd like to think that I'm truly living but I'm just lying to myself to make everything feel better. Though I still have hope that one of these days I'm going to wake up to a life worth living.

Day by day night by night it's exhausting being in this never ending cycle but again I have to keep hoping that the great universe has something, honestly just anything in store for me.

I let out a deep sigh watching my breath's misty cloud float into the wintery night.

I'm locked out of the house once again. Normally I wouldn't mind but getting thrown out in 20 degree weather with only pajama shorts and a thin long sleeve shirt on is pretty much blasphemy if you ask me.

This is the third home I have been sent to in over a year. It's seriously not my fault all of the foster parents just don't have a good sense of humor. They say they can't "handle me" , that I'm too "out of control". Pfft as if, i'm perfectly amazing i'm just too smexy for them.

This family however just wanted me for the benefits, aka the money, broke mother freakers.

There's Samantha who looks at me like I'm an imbecile every second of every day.

Then there's Tom who is much more aggressive. Brussies are starting to form on my wrist from him dragging me outside.

I mean don't get me wrong I'm grateful to have a roof over my head and clothes on my body yata yata i'm just i'm not very grateful for my punishments just for simply existing. I'm used to not being important to anyone but I despise that a small part of me will always have hope that the next home will be different.

You know more homey...

But every single time it's the same... foster parents who use me as a maid and a money outlet.

I was put into the foster care system when I was nine years old. My mom raised me, if you can even call it that, along with my two sisters but one day she got up and left, taking everything with her but me. After a month of fending for myself the school noticed my long absence, and a cop was sent over. I kept trying to convince the kind dude that my mom would come back but they took me to the station and when they realized I had no one else to take care of me the next thing I know I'm put in the foster system.

I overheard one of the workers say that she served time for abandonment or whatever.

I definitely wasn't eavesdropping

Anyways

I was so sure that my mom would show up one day until I was eleven. One day I overheard Piper, one of the workers, having a conversation on the phone that confirmed she didn't want me. I stupidly keeped all my confidence that she was coming to rescue me. As I got older that hope slowly faded away.