Moving On.
  • Reads 49
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  • Parts 7
  • Time 1h 7m
  • Reads 49
  • Votes 0
  • Parts 7
  • Time 1h 7m
Ongoing, First published Jun 07, 2015
Mature
"We are sorry to inform you, but your 'parents' do not think they can continue to provide for you and your necessities. Luckily, we have found you some local residents who are pleasantly willing to take you in as your new 'parents'-"

This is the seventeenth time I've received this kind of letter and variations like it from the county government.

Seventeenth. In six years.

Everyday, my life is a game of luck, hope and misfortune. I juggle new friends, new schools, new names, and most of all, new homes. All of the towns have its ups and downs, and, thankfully, the odds have been in my favor for fifteen of them.

People always tell me to keep holding on, that one day it'll be perfect and it'll be worth it.

But I always tell them: I'd rather be like an ocean wave and keep moving on.
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Pinwheels and Dandelions

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I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.