You Took Life From Me

Face the Facts

"He yanks at my hair,
He strikes my face,
He shoves me to the ground.

Despite the pain he inflicts,
I cannot find the courage
To escape this torment.

Every inch of my body aches,

And all I can do is weep.

This cycle will repeat.

I am trapped in this cycle of abuse,
Unable to break free."

From the moment I was thrust into this world, I was condemned to mature in the shadow of harsh realities, bereft of a guiding hand or a salve for my wounds. In the dim recesses of my childhood, I learned to greet darkness not with trepidation, but with a defiant embrace.

My tale unfolds on October 3rd, 1890, in the desolate stretches of Iowa. My mother, ensnared in the clutches of poverty, battled daily for survival. Her desperation drove her to desperate acts, including the surrender of her dignity for mere sustenance. Yet, fate's cruel twist intervened when a wealthy man extended an offer of refuge. Despite the fact that she carried the child of another-a mere relic of a fleeting affair-he proposed, promising a veneer of security and comfort.

But as I drew my first breath, the façade of our newfound stability shattered. The man who once offered a glimmer of hope was now repelled by my mere existence.

"Whose child is that?" he roared, his voice a thunderclap as I cried in my mother's arms. Unbeknownst to her, I was the offspring of a brief union with a black man. Disgusted, he cast us out into the cold embrace of homelessness. My mother, in her desperation, pleaded for his forgiveness, and he begrudgingly agreed to marry her. Despite his disdain for me, he accepted her and later, my innocent sister Alice, into his domain.

Amidst the turbulence of my youth, my mother spun enigmatic tales of my uniqueness. She whispered that I was destined for a path apart, forewarning me that I would be met with disdain, yet assuring me of the beauty in my divergence.

Thus, my life commenced amidst the twin shadows of rejection and mystery, tinged with a sense of grand purpose.

School became my arena, where my intellect soared, yet my spirit was ceaselessly battered. The cruelty of peers and the cold indifference of adults marked my journey.

One fateful day, as I trudged home from school, a child's mocking laughter pierced the air. With a shove, they sent my books sprawling and ridiculed my hair, comparing it to a lion's mane. As I scrambled to retrieve my fallen treasures, humiliation and sorrow washed over me. The child's mother then approached, her words searing through me like a branding iron.

"Child of a nigger..." she spat, dragging her child away from me. The venomous phrase echoed in my mind as I made my way home, a ceaseless torment gnawing at my thoughts. I completed my homework with mechanical precision, played with my sister Alice, savored my dinner, and immersed myself in a soothing bath, all while an unquenchable thirst for understanding consumed me.

"What's a nigger, Mama?" I demanded, gripping her arm with a desperate urgency. The blood drained from her face, leaving her pallid and trembling.

"Darling, where did you hear such a thing?"

"A woman I passed on my way home called me that... Why would she say that?"

In that moment, the harsh reality of my existence struck with unrelenting force. I understood then, with brutal clarity, that belonging was an elusive dream. The only path forward was to steel myself against the unyielding world.

Ruth: Theas mother

The library's grand oak doors creaked open, revealing Mr. Banks, a figure of imposing elegance, his silhouette framed by the morning light that streamed through the high windows. He settled into a plush armchair, his pipe trailing curling wisps of smoke into the air. I faced him with a mix of admiration and apprehension, the weight of the upcoming conversation pressing heavily on my shoulders.