It’s the holiday season. A time for families to come together and share joy and memories. And give thanks for all the blessings they receive in life. My cousin has been hosting the Thanksgiving festivities at her house for a while now, so going there has become tradition. I couldn't tell you what it's like. I've never been invited. So while my family enjoys turkey, ham, stuffing, alcohol and togetherness, I sit here. Alone. In my bedroom. For I am the Black Sheep of the family.

It wasn't always this way. Growing up I was the baby among my cousins and without a doubt the favorite. I never had any brothers or sisters so I guess you could say I was spoiled. On Thanksgiving, (which was always at our house), my mom would make us all write our name on a small piece of paper and fold it up. Then she'd take the pieces, throw them into a hat and make us each pull out one. The name on it would be the person we were supposed to get a Christmas gift for. I guess she did this for everyone else because she always made sure to get a gift for everyone and everyone always got an extra one for me.

As I got older, my interests began to change. I discovered boys and sex. Then after a bad break-up, I discovered drugs- and booze. My parents did everything they could but nothing helped. Before I finished my freshman year in high school, I was a drug addict. And that Christmas, everyone would know it.

Its funny how no one ever acknowledges the person who is aware of the signs. I had been able to fool my parents. But once my family arrived, the cat was out of the bag. My cousin's husband was the first to say something. A "former" addict and forever alcoholic. I use the term "former" loosely because looking back I realize he was telling the truth about being drug free about as well as I was. Still seeking approval from my family he saw an opportunity to take the spotlight off himself and shine it on someone else. A fifteen year old girl. Swell.

I should probably mention that at this time I was not the only active drug user in my family. I was just the only one that hadn't mastered the art of hiding it. How disappointed everyone must've been. I bet they talked about it the whole time they were getting loaded in my bedroom. The shame they must have felt when they discovered I was not of the same high moral standards.

Years went by. People pretended to get sober, myself included. Eventually we stopped having Thanksgiving at our house and my cousin took it over. My parents say it got too expensive having both holidays at our house but I'm pretty sure they got tired of being judged. After all, it is their fault for not being able to see the signs.

Funny how no one ever mentions the abortion my parents paid for. Not mine of course. But the daughter of one of my perfect family members. Who at the time was fifteen. They never mention the lying, cheating or violence. And why would they? Maybe I just don't get it. I've never stepped on that moral high ground they all walk on. I've never been invited.

See my parents, raised me to be loving and tolerant. To use the gift my dad gave me. Which was the ability to read people. To use that as a tool needed only for protection. He showed me how to listen to my instincts. How to use caution when dealing with strangers. But never, NEVER, stick your nose up. He taught me that humility was the only way to ensure that when the tables turn, (and I promise you they will), I have a seat on the right side.

My mother. She is a beautiful person. The epitome of a strong woman. Her unconditional love and loyalty was the only thing that got me through some days. Of course I didn't realize it until later on in life. When the entire world had given up on me and everyone else in our family had their nose up, she was there. And when I cried to her because I wasn't invited to my cousin’s she said:

"That's ok. We didn't really want to go."

It’s the holiday season. A time for families to come together and share joy and memories. And give thanks for all the blessings they receive in life. My cousin has been hosting the Thanksgiving festivities at her house for a while now, so going there has become tradition. I couldn't tell you what it's like. I've never been invited. So while my family enjoys turkey, ham, stuffing, alcohol and togetherness, I sit here. Alone. In my bedroom. For I am the Black Sheep of the family.

It wasn't always this way. Growing up I was the baby among my cousins and without a doubt the favorite. I never had any brothers or sisters so I guess you could say I was spoiled. On Thanksgiving, (which was always at our house), my mom would make us all write our name on a small piece of paper and fold it up. Then she'd take the pieces, throw them into a hat and make us each pull out one. The name on it would be the person we were supposed to get a Christmas gift for. I guess she did this for everyone else because she always made sure to get a gift for everyone and everyone always got an extra one for me.

As I got older, my interests began to change. I discovered boys and sex. Then after a bad break-up, I discovered drugs- and booze. My parents did everything they could but nothing helped. Before I finished my freshman year in high school, I was a drug addict. And that Christmas, everyone would know it.

Its funny how no one ever acknowledges the person who is aware of the signs. I had been able to fool my parents. But once my family arrived, the cat was out of the bag. My cousin's husband was the first to say something. A "former" addict and forever alcoholic. I use the term "former" loosely because looking back I realize he was telling the truth about being drug free about as well as I was. Still seeking approval from my family he saw an opportunity to take the spotlight off himself and shine it on someone else. A fifteen year old girl. Swell.

I should probably mention that at this time I was not the only active drug user in my family. I was just the only one that hadn't mastered the art of hiding it. How disappointed everyone must've been. I bet they talked about it the whole time they were getting loaded in my bedroom. The shame they must have felt when they discovered I was not of the same high moral standards.

Years went by. People pretended to get sober, myself included. Eventually we stopped having Thanksgiving at our house and my cousin took it over. My parents say it got too expensive having both holidays at our house but I'm pretty sure they got tired of being judged. After all, it is their fault for not being able to see the signs.

Funny how no one ever mentions the abortion my parents paid for. Not mine of course. But the daughter of one of my perfect family members. Who at the time was fifteen. They never mention the lying, cheating or violence. And why would they? Maybe I just don't get it. I've never stepped on that moral high ground they all walk on. I've never been invited.

See my parents, raised me to be loving and tolerant. To use the gift my dad gave me. Which was the ability to read people. To use that as a tool needed only for protection. He showed me how to listen to my instincts. How to use caution when dealing with strangers. But never, NEVER, stick your nose up. He taught me that humility was the only way to ensure that when the tables turn, (and I promise you they will), I have a seat on the right side.

My mother. She is a beautiful person. The epitome of a strong woman. Her unconditional love and loyalty was the only thing that got me through some days. Of course I didn't realize it until later on in life. When the entire world had given up on me and everyone else in our family had their nose up, she was there. And when I cried to her because I wasn't invited to my cousin’s she said:

"That's ok. We didn't really want to go."

I am the slow leak in your ceiling. The one you chose to ignore. For a while it was manageable, the dripping. You just put a small pot on the floor to catch the water and walk away. After a few days it would fill up and you'd just dump it out then put it back in the same spot. Eventually you didn't even have to look up to see where that same spot was because the pot had left a perfect circle on the tile in the exact place it needed to be. So clever you are. A natural in adaptation and resourcefulness.

Consumed by your newly found skill set you became unaware and negligent. While you were cutting corners and improving your time management you were forgetting to look up. If you had, even just once, you would have quickly noticed the water stain that was getting bigger above you and the damage that was getting progressively worse. But you didn't look up. Instead you ignored me and underestimated what I am capable of. Days became weeks. Weeks become months. Dumping out the water from the slow leak became part of your routine. Life was as it was and all was normal-- until it wasn't.

The day you realized what you had really done was the day you came home to a caved in ceiling. The smell was horrid, months of ignored mildew, a handful of different colored molds. All of your negligence now soaking up the floor at your feet.

I am the slow leak in your ceiling. I am your white lies

There once was a nation

Divided in two

One side was red

The other was blue

The side that was red

Belonged to the right

The side on the left

Was blue as the night

The people who lived there

Could never agree

And that was ok

Because both sides were free

Free not to listen

Free to ignore

Free to join forces

And so, so much more

They set up a system

To keep things afloat

That gave every person

A voice and a vote

They voted on issues

They voted on rules

They voted on when

They should open up schools

They elected their leaders

And who governed the law

But the system was broken

The system was flawed

Politicians turn tyrants

Motivated by greed

Who put their own wants

Ahead of our need

Both sides were guilty

This much is true

But lies and deceit

Often favored the blue

They played on emotions

And paid off the news

To change your opinions

And alter your views

“United we stand!”

“Divided we fall!”

“Don’t vote for Donald”

“He’s to blame for it all!”

They had to defeat him

He had to be beat

No room for chances

They needed to cheat

The election was stolen

It should always be fair

Unless you vote Donald

Then they don’t care

Red, blue, or yellow

Black, white or green

We all have a voice

And all should be seen

Our nation is grieving

We can’t let her go

But nothing can happen

If nobody knows

Stand with your neighbors

Stand with a friend

Fight for your country

Put this war to an end

794. I said to myself as I blew away the excess dust from the tally mark I had just finished carving on the wall. 794 days I’ve been down here. The air smelled wet, and dense, like a muddy puddle near a sewer drain does just after a long rain. There were no windows. Just a vent that sometimes blew hot air from the outside, or maybe from an air conditioner, it’s hard to tell. Twice a day, light would radiate through the vent, just enough to dimly illuminate the horrific environment I was trapped in. Once at midnight and the other at noon. I knew this because every time the light would shine in, I heard the faint sound of a giant clock bell being rung in the distance. I had been down in the dark so long that even the dimmest of light was too much for me. It was as if I had been staring directly into the sun without blinking.

Making that small tally mark everyday was not as easy as you would think. The walls were made of solid concrete, as was the floor. I used a steel rod, one from the small vent that had fallen out somehow, maybe from the prisoner before in an attempt to escape. As I pulled my arm away from the wall I let out a loud sigh. My breathing was heavy and my frail arms were tired. Carving into that concrete was the only physical thing I did, and it had been this way for almost three years. That was pretty much all I could do. My arms were cuffed at the wrists to a chain that came out of the concrete, as were my legs, at the ankles. The metal was thick, heavy, and cold. It smelled like the rust of an old car being pulled from the ocean. My legs were just as frail, and were always shaking. Like an elderly woman, I leaned my arm back so that my hand lay flat on the wall to help support my body weight as I slowly sat back down on the cold, hard, floor. And thus was my entire day. I didn't eat, or sleep, there was no need. If I did close my eyes for a while, it was only in effort to see something different in my imagination; or in hopes that when I reopened them, life would be as it was three years ago. If only I could be free again. I often thought to myself. I'd never let my keeper down again, I'm much smarter now.

In order for you to understand me, you first have to understand how I got here. Even more important, you have to have an understanding of my keeper, Annabelle; what a sight to be seen. Everything she touched radiated, glowing like fireflies in the darkest of nights. Anyone who met her, instantly fell in love. She was a creature unlike any other. Her skin was flawless, and felt like the finest, hand-threaded silk. She had long, thick, auburn hair that glistened and smelled like fresh jasmine. Annabelle's smile could warm even the coldest of hearts– and it did. But we'll talk about that later. Sometimes you could catch her outside, tending to the garden, singing to the flowers. Her voice was angelic, even when she was just speaking. If you were lucky enough to get to speak with her, you quickly discovered that she was also smart. Her beauty was breathtaking, sure, but her mind; her mind is what made her irresistible.

The years went by and Annabelle grew older, her beauty growing with her as well. Every boy who laid eyes on her wanted her for themselves. But their love was not sincere, and only caused her heartache. Smart as she may have been, when it came to love, she always listened to her heart. But her heart, she said, seemed to lead her blind every time. The first one was the worst, as first loves often are.

Like most girls not yet tainted by the lies of men, she hung onto every word he said; every promise he made; every lie he spewed from his mouth, mistakes she would not make again. The pain she felt in her heart when he left her, was unbearable, unlike anything she had ever felt before. Not only had he taken her innocence; he nearly crushed her faith in love. Everyone told her to give it time, her heart would heal, and it did, eventually. But she never forgot the lies and deceit. Love; it seemed just wasn't in the cards for Annabelle. Time and time again, she would give herself to another, refusing to give up, but time and time again, she would be made a fool. Each boy claimed they were different than the last, promised that they would never hurt her, and each time she believed them.

Annabelle's heart had begun to darken. She vowed to protect what was left of it for the rest of her life. Never again would she let her heart endure such pain; or so she thought. Boys became men, and Annabelle became a woman, still as beautiful as ever. Surely a grown man can not be as cruel and manipulative as boys were, she would often think to herself. Perhaps I shall give love another try. So once again, she found herself letting down her walls and giving someone new a piece of her heart. And once again, she found herself with torn down walls and a piece of her heart missing.

The walls she could repair, and she did just that, this time higher, thicker, sturdier.

Her heart, however, could not be mended as easily, if at all. It was missing far too many pieces. Darkness filled the holes where the pieces used to be and ice began to form around what wasn't missing. Out of the cold and darkness, a rose bush appeared. Beautiful black roses were always in full bloom; they were breathtaking, but like her heart, they were guarded. Razor sharp thorns protected the roses and covered every inch of the walls she had repaired.

“Only a fool would try to make his way to my heart”, she said aloud in a sinister tone. So. What does any of that have to do with my incarceration?

Well, Annabelle did everything she could to protect her cold, dark, heart from being touched by man again. But she forgot about the parts that still live, healthy, beneath the ice and darkness. You see, deep down at the center of her beating heart, is me. When Annabelle built that impenetrable fortress around her heart to keep the pain of man out, she trapped me in. I live in the deepest, warmest part of her heart. I never thought she'd hurt me, I trusted her as she had all the men that hurt her. It seems as though I have been forgotten. Left here to wither away. If only she would remember me.

There once was a boy

Who was scared of the world

Until he found Lexington

Then he was cured

Lexington sheltered

The young boy from pain

Protected his heart

And protected his brain

Despite how he tried

As the young boy got older

He only got mean

His heart only got colder

He locked up poor Lexington

Left him alone

And went back to the world

All on his own

It didn’t take long

For the demons to find

A boy with no Lexington

And a weak mind

The demons soon filled

The young boy with rage

And laughed at poor Lexington

Locked in cage

When Lexington saw them

He started to shout

“You’re no good for this boy!”

“You’re no good. Now GET OUT!”

The demons responded

“You made your own choice”

“A demon who loves,

Does not have a voice!”

Lexington’s eyes

Began to tear up

But the boy needed him

So he couldn’t give up

“Love is the answer.”

“I promise you’ll see”

“I’m dying in here”

“Please let me free”

But no one could hear him

So he started to cry

Alone in that cage

He was going to die

He layed in the corner

Curled up in a ball

And suddenly water

Was starting to fall

With every breathe

The ice started to melt

And soon everyone

Would know how he felt

He got out of his cage

And started to run

For the first time in years

He could see the sun

He ran even faster

And started to scream

But nobody heard him

Or so it did seem

The demons caught up

They were hot on his tail

Determined to make sure

That Lexington failed

As he took his last breath

He started to grin

It seems someone heard him

“I told you I’d win”

The boy’s heart was beating

The ice melted away

The demon’s were gone

And love got to stay.

When you've lived a life like mine every day can become a challenge. One day at a time I suppose, or at least that's what they keep telling me. It's been 134 days since I've seen him, my world, my all, my one true love. I'd be lying if I told you I didn't miss him or think about him often. Not a day goes by that I don't remember what it was like with him. So if you ask me when the last time I did something challenging was, I will tell you it was the day I let my one true love go.

Some of you will never get to experience this type of love. Which, to be honest, is for the best because in the end a love like that does more harm than good. When he breaks you, and he will break you, the damage will be beyond repair. His presence haunts me. I can still smell him. His strong scent is unmistakable; like that of gasoline or sour milk. The pungent aroma hits your nose like sniffing a line of ground pepper that burns going down your throat. When it's over you're left with a foul taste in your mouth for what feels like eternity. I know he's no good for me, and I know he's disgusting. But still I yearn for him. How quickly I forget these things when I think of him now.

I remember when our love affair started. I had just had my heartbroken by a guy I really thought I loved. The pain was unbearable. “If you love someone let them go.” they always told me. But does anyone who says that really know how hard that is? It's like them asking you to perform open heart surgery, on yourself, standing up, in front of a mirror. Then it gets to a point, where out of desperation you find yourself, standing in front of a mirror, with a marker in one hand and a table of surgical tools at your side. I put the cold knife up to my chest and pressed it against the dotted line I had drawn on my bare skin just moments before, and just as I began cutting into my skin, he showed up.

His love was unlike anything I had ever felt. The kind of love that could pull you from a burning car to save your life. At a time when I was on the verge of giving up, he came to me. His warm embrace would sooth my sadness, ease my pain. An embrace so warm that it could start a fire in the middle of a violent blizzard and stay lit in the middle of the ocean. I found such comfort in knowing that even in the darkest of days, he'd be there, shining a light. It was as if nothing else mattered anymore. My world began to revolve around him.

We went everywhere together; and on those rare occasions we didn't show up together, I didn't worry. I knew when I got there he'd already be there, waiting for me. Probably all dressed up in black; damn near impossible to resist. Didn't matter how many times I'd seen him, wearing the exact same thing; I always got a little excited. Especially when he'd start to sweat, despite his horrible smell. Nothing made me desire him more than when I'd look over at him and a single bead of sweat had begun to slowly drip down his neck; I needed him. I wasn't the only one. He was the object of many people's affection, I knew that, would've been foolish to assume otherwise. Normally, this would bother me, but given the circumstances, I knew I didn't have a choice and my need for him far exceeded my need to be the only one. He was no good for me but it was too late. I let things go to far. He had consumed me just as much as I consumed him.

Like many love affairs, our relationship began to grow cold, I began to grow bored. His love was not enough, I needed more. I began exploring other options, hoping that one of them would be able to make me feel as he did in the beginning. I yearned for that feeling so bad; I became desperate. It wasn't long before I began involving his friends into our affairs, but this only made my need stronger. Everyone saw it; everyone but me. Why didn't they tell me? I often asked myself. If they did, would I have even listened? Probably not. He was going to lead me into an untimely demise, him and all his friends. I became powerless. Powerless against the vice like grip he had on me. No longer was able to hide my shame, my defeat, my desperation.

It took him less than one year to tear down what I'd spent years building up. I lost everything. At some point I didn't even know who I was anymore. The aching hole in my heart combined with my guilt, shame and embarrassment I felt, became unbearable. I'd let my entire life slip through the cracks and into my glass. And just like that, it was gone. Gone before it could even melt the ice. How I missed my life before him. I would've given anything for it back. But I knew it'd never be the same. I had to just accept it, accept the monster I had become; there was no escaping it.

I had just about given up and then I felt it. That little strand of hope that had been hiding in the back of my mind was dangling right in front of my face. It tickled my nose as the faint wind pushed it around, much like that of a feather or the loose fur of a long haired cat. It was there only briefly before that same wind blew it away, but it was enough. I suddenly remembered all that I had given up for him. Clouded memories of the things I had walked away from became vividly clear, I realized what I'd done. Tears streamed down my face and crashed onto the ground like a hole in a well built damn, and the weight of my sorrow brought me to my knees. It was in this moment that I knew change was possible, or so I thought. I needed him, now more than ever.

As I sat there, wallowing in the misery of my life, I begun to realize that it wasn't that he made me feel good; it was that he made me numb, and that was just as gratifying. Everything inside of me was mangled and torn to pieces. Whatever was left in tact needed to be preserved and protected if I was to survive. So once again I built my wall, this one stronger than the last. That wall had been torn down so many times that it was hard to tell it's pieces from the pieces of my broken heart. The only pieces that were the slightest bit recognizable were the tiny pieces of my mind. Like shards of shattered glass, they glistened; even the dimmest of light would bounce of them and reflect against the darkness that was my soul. I couldn't afford to lose anymore of myself and if I was to avoid anymore sadness I would have to give up joy. Numb was the only option.

Despite everything, I continued to see him, sometimes his friends too. It felt different, I felt different, I felt. All the numbness he coated me with was no longer working. Panic and anxiety rushed over me. Suddenly I felt like the ninth inning batter, full count and a tied score. There was nothing anyone or anything could do to help me through this, it was all riding on me. The only way I was going to win was if I knocked the ball out of the park; if I didn't, I'd lose the game. My entire team was counting on me, depending on me to lead them to victory. How was I going to live with myself if I let them down; again? The only option I had was to pick up my bat and swing.

Life gives us very few true “fight or flight” moments. How we chose will define the next chapter in our life. I knew that if I didn't take that swing I would regret forever. My heart began pounding and my hands started to sweat. I couldn't help but worry that the bat was going to slip from my hands after I swing; all I could hope for is that no one gets hurt. Even if I struck out, I knew that they would see my efforts and I found comfort in that. I took a deep breathe, mounted the plate and lifted my bat. Once again, I felt it, that little strand of hope. Only this time it wasn't so little, and with it were strands of confidence and fixed determination to succeed. I watched the ball as it flew towards me at blazing speed and without hesitation I swung – crack. The bat cracked and the ball flew, far. Victory had become mine. Everything changed that day. No longer would I be controlled by the man all dressed up in black; he was going to have to find another victim. Shouldn't be hard for him, after all, he is Jack Daniels. People everywhere line up for the opportunity to be in his presence; he won't even notice that I'm gone.

It was late, we had been drinking all night. Normally I don’t allow strangers to come back to the house, but she had convinced me it would be fun. Plus one of them said he had some good snow with him and after a night like that, we could both use a bump. It had been a while since either of us had put anything up our noses so we were both pretty excited.

On the ride home my hands started to clam up and I could feel my whole body start to get hot, the anticipation was killing me. By the time we pulled up I was practically drooling, I couldn’t inside quick enough. For a moment I had forgotten how much I had drank. Luckily the grass was there remind me; withing the first few steps I tripped and landed on that nice, soft, itchy grass. Laughing hysterically, she stumbled over and attempted to pull me up, she failed. The two guys we just met at the bar were laughing pretty hard themselves but they eventually came over and helped us both up.

After stumbling around outside, I open my front door and direct everyone to the couch in my living room. There’s isn’t enough room for all four of us so I have to send one of the guys to the garage to grab on of the blue folding chairs leaning against the wall out there.

Once we’re finally situated the guy in the chair grabs a dvd case from underneath table in front of the couch and pulls out his bag of snow. I wish he would’ve told us it was hardly anything, I would’ve thought this through a little better. He pours out the small bit of snow on the dvd case and sets it on the table. It’s pretty, the light is hitting it just right; it looks like a bunch of tiny snowflakes had fallen from the sky and fell into a perfect pile.

“We need a straw or something.”, he said while he looking around for something we could use to sniff this up.

“We can use a dollar.”, she said.

“I’ve got one in purse!”

Just as she said she reached her hand into purse and started rustling around. She struggles with this for a while;

“I found one!”, she said happily.

She pulls her hand out of her purse and somehow manages to knock the dvd case off the table onto the floor. My heart skips as I watch the beautiful pile of snow fall onto the floor and everything seems to stand still. Like that moment in movies when the record stops, everything freezes, and everyone is staring at you. Awkwardly, she lets out little laugh and gets down on her knees to pick up the case. On her way down she bumps the table and knocks off the few specks had landed on it. I watched through the light and looked like snowflakes were falling, some onto her face. One of the snowflakes landed her nose. All I wanted to do was scream because she convinced to let two strangers into my home and we couldn’t get our bump.

Note to self- next time, make sure there’s enough before letting them over.