I know I can't act perfectly.

I don't know why

But I expect you to be more than I can be.

I want you to hug me when I cry,

Carry my load and troubles, T.

And to love in a way I fail in, but try;

See what I cannot see.

I forget I'm supposed to care for you:

You're my baby sis

It's old for me, for you it's new.

I need to help you achieve what I miss

Here's my hand so you can climb too.

It will be hard, and there'll be some risk

But together we'll make it through.

Here is an excerpt from the book I'm working on right now:

Dame Frances sat rocking in her chair, a partially darned sock lying in her lap. Through the open window she watched Toriana in the garden. The girl brushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand, trying to not get any dirt in it, as she knelt in the dirt. Dame Frances’ mind flew back to when she and both of her children worked in the garden together. She sighed deeply, picked up the sock in her lap and continued darning it.

Hearing an exclamation from Toriana, Dame Frances quickly raised her head and looked out the window. Toriana had risen to her feet and was shading her eyes with her hands. Looking toward the horizon, Dame Frances saw an approaching man on horseback. With a loud cry, Toriana darted through the grass towards the man, who stopped his horse when he saw her. As Toriana came closer, he leapt from his horse and sprinted towards her. The girl ran straight into his open arms and wrapped her arms around him. The man’s arms closed tightly around her, and he buried his face in her gold locks.

As Dame Frances sat frozen watching, the man slowly raised his head and looked straight towards her. With dewy eyes, Dame Frances saw that it was her son; Shawn who had left several years before to go to sea. Arm in arm, Toriana and Shawn entered the cottage. Crossing the room, Shawn knelt beside his mother, and took her small, time-worn hands in his large, weather-beaten ones. Tears trickled down Dame France’s cheeks and splashed down onto their clasped hands. Shawn bowed his head for a moment, to hide his own tears.

Raising his head, Shawn said softly, “Mother, I’ve come home.”

As Christmas approaches again this year, I try to recall the joy and anticipation I felt as a child. I remember waking up Christmas morning and slipping out of my warm bed. I would tiptoe downstairs with my little sister trailing behind me.

Reaching the living room, I'd spot my older brothers curled up on the couch. Grabbing a blanket, my sister and I would join them, wrapping the warmth of the blanket around us in our flannel nightgowns. There we'd sit, giggling softly as we waited for our parents to get up.

The rest of the day would be filled with joy and laughter as we opened our gifts one by one. Shrieks of excitement would be heard as my sister unwrapped a new baby doll. All of us would gather around to see a brother's new toy car. Unwrapping the gift I'd dreamed of for 6 months, I'd squeal in excitement and run to my mom to throw my arms around her.

Breakfast was always yogurt and cold cereal that were placed in our stockings that morning, and we'd eat it gathered around the dining room table, while discussing what we thought we'd get next.

The last gifts to be opened were our book bags, and that always led to silence as all of us would slowly flip through the pages of books. The rest of the day would be spent playing new games, trying out new toys and reading books while curled up on the couch.

Christmas is much the same now, but as I grow older, I begin to forget the pure and simple joy of a child over their gifts. My dream now is not for a new doll or toy, but to someday bring this same joy to my future children.

My grandpa passed away from cancer when my mom was only 19, and her 8 younger siblings were between the ages of 17-2. My grandma was often asked how she could make it alone. She always replied, "I'm not alone; I have my children and God with me. With God, all things are possible."

And she was right; God made a way for her and her children. Times were hard sometimes, but working together, they were able to overcome everything.

Nearly 30 years later, Grandma still has God with her, and now she has 9 children and their spouses, and 35 grandchildren (with more on the way) and 2 great grandchildren to walk by her side.

My Grandma is a cheerful, hardworking, wonderful woman who is an inspiration to all around her.

Sometimes, near their wedding anniversary or my grandpa's birthday, I see her eyes and know that she's missing him. But at these moments we gather closer and stronger together to support and comfort her.

Everyone has their own taste in books and music, which really is an amazing thing that allows artists and authors to write in many styles. However, people like to insult people who like certain authors or music styles, saying that they're terrible, etc., and that their favorites are the only good ones. Please remember: you don't have to tear people down to build others up.

When you said life was hard

I believed you but I also did not:

I thought it was hard now

Not foreseeing what would come.

When you said to ask for help

I said I would never need it.

Soon I would fall at your feet

Begging for your mercy.

Now I know why you stayed near

And why you encouraged me:

You were preparing me

You knew surviving isn't easy.

But I did and even thrived

With you by my side.

I take words to heart and remember them forever. This can be both good and bad, depending on what was said.

Someone criticized my piano playing once, and I went from practicing hours a day to not touching a piano for almost a year. (I never touched the music ever again)

I overheard my older brother say I was beautiful about 10 years ago, and I still remember it so clearly, I can tell you where everyone was standing when it happened.

I was told that being nervous was a sign of immaturity, and to this day that comes back to haunt me whenever I have to speak or perform in public.

My dad told me once about five years ago that I cooked like my mom (AKA throwing random things into a pot and having it come out good) and I still think about it every single time I cook.

I remember things, and I remember them clearly. So be careful what you say to me if you don't want it to become a permanent memory for me!

I boldly stood on the edge of the cliff, knowing it was dangerous, not caring about the risk. And then it happened; I slipped. My feet swung in empty air, as my hands grasped unsuccessfully at the slippery edge, and I cried out in desperation, wishing that I hadn't disobeyed the only one who could save me. Then, out of the dark, a pair of warm hands grasped mine, pulling me back to solid ground. A pair of comforting arms wrapped tightly around me, and a voice said, "My child, even if you disobey me, I will never leave you."

No one I know really talks about memory gaps due to trauma, but most of my family has them. The two main ones for me are when I was six, one of my older brothers was dying of leukemia, and the other was in 2020, when my dad went insane.

It honestly is a terrifying feeling to have literally months of your life be blank. My family doesn't really talk much about what happened with my brother (he is alive and doing well by the way), but recently it has been up for discussion. I have discovered that almost a year of my memory during that time is missing: I mostly remember people crying (especially my baby sister) and visiting the hospital several times.

But the most terrifying time of my life was probably when my dad went crazy.

He hadn't been mentally stable for years, but we hadn't realized anything was off. (He mostly sat around like a rock and did nothing.) We discovered that he was crazy when he was on a trip with my oldest brother about halfway across the USA from us. My brother ended up calling 911, and when they made it back home we found out that my father was Bipolar.

It is a really terrifying feeling when you realize that you have a dad, but he doesn't do anything a dad should do. My dad is pretty normal now (he still gets kinda weird sometimes), and I simply am not used to it. If I am going to be honest, I and most of my siblings no longer have a good relationship with our dad. For too many years he didn't care about us, or what we did, and I simply don't have the level of respect for him that I should have.

I have a memory gap of several months, and only recently have I opened up to several people close to me and let some of the trauma go. I've kept it locked inside of me for so long, and I don't really know how to let go. I am afraid of letting people see my vulnerable side, and I'm afraid of building a relationship with my dad because I'm afraid that he will go insane again.

So I guess for me, the most terrifying experiences of my life are from when I went through trauma, and I'm afraid to go through that again. I'm slowly healing, but I've got a long ways to go.

The Moon died slowly, like me.

Hugged close, yet still wasting away.

Here again, but alone this time.

(Six Word contests seem to follow me wherever I go, lol)