I am a reminder of my father.
I inherited his humor.
At times unstable, manic even.
Oh, and I also have his honey brown eyes.
I am the produt of a broken marriage.
Maybe that’s why I don’t get along with my mother.
I am the daughter of a mother who never learned to love herself.
Raised on ‘Do I look okay?’, ‘How’s my hair?’ And never hearing I love you’s.
I am the flower that grew between sidewalk cracks outside my beige childhood home.
The rose that somehow managed to flourish without proper care, love or attention.
I am loud
Like thunder in a storm.
I guess you can say I am difficult, a handful – however, you want to phrase it.
But usually that description comes from one who can’t handle my fire.
I speak my mind.
In fact, words come quick and easy
With the slip of my tongue
I am blessed.
Raised on church every Sunday
With the dress to match my fraternal twin sister, Ava.
I am a miracle
Lucky to be alive, lucky to have survived,
Unspoken storms and unexpected hospital visits.
I do not give up easily.
I am an open book.
Full of half written chapters and untold stories.
Who would I be without my past?
Traumas, stories, and the self all included.
My name is Nora,
It’s nice to meet you.
