Dear Little Girl

Some days I open my mouth and my mother comes out. Each word is 
a riot. I find myself slipping into her anger with so much ease it shocks me
sometimes. The world is burning and everyone is waiting for her to put out her flames with her tears because her pain is used to heal everyone else. 


I have inherited the rage that comes with being a safe haven for visitors 
who leave without cleaning up their mess. My mother didn't invent pain but 
my God, does she wear it well. My mother doesnt flinch as she pulls out the knives in her back and rinses off the blood to forget there was ever a time she was vulnerable to the wrong people. 


My mother gives me heirlooms like backbone and strength, and hand-me-down trauma, because I come from a long line of women who bleed on command, and 
cry only when everyone else is asleep. 


An eon ago; I broke this rule when I rushed back home and bawled in my mother's lap because I gave my name to a boy and he returned it broken and damaged and bruised. My mother stroked my hair and laughed softly when I told her that the pain was overwhelming. 
"My child," she said "sadly this won't be the last time you cry in my arms."

****



Like mother, like daughter

### Dear Little girl 
You are not a second choice 


They didnt choose you because you are not worthy 


But because they weren't built to love you 


I know their arms feel like they were supposed to carry you


But the lack of their strength is not a testimony of the weight of your soul


But rather the weakness of theirs.


You are not too much.




### Sincerely, Your big sister.


Haha Hey! 


Why are you here? Oh let me guess, you are snooping around. Are you? No? 
Okay. Okay. Maybe you want to know me. Is that it? Oh come on at least tell me if I'm close. 

Wait wait, you fancy me? (I know you cant see this but I have a very cheeky smile right now). Oh I knew it. 
Is it just me or does fancy feel more romantic or like we are in a movie setting, the renditions are playinng and you, like the decent person you are is courting me? hahahhahaha 

What was I saying? Yeah I do a lot of that. I lose track of my trail of thought easily. So,,, welcome. 
Welcome home. I'd offer you pancakes but I've learnt a hard lessons of bystanders and visitors who come with no intention to stay and are not decent enough to clean up their mess. Ugh! I hate it so please dont overstay your welcome and be courteous enough to say goodbye.  
(I usually have a very heavy british accent when writing my rants so please do them justice. Did you emphasis the ts in hate it ?)

I do not consider myself a writer. I'm just a girl who writes about everything, every little thing in her life. It's a sickness at this point. All i'm saying, extend grace or not, i dont care. (I actually do and i hate that)
Some of these (rants) are true and some are not. I do not care enough to explain that. Are you still reading this nonsense? Aaaaaaw you must really like me. 


Anywayzz if you must know something about me 


    - I like reading. I like books in an unexplainable way. They almost define me.


    - I like baking. The process, the sugar and the smell in the kitchen afterwards. 


    - I am in love with pancakes. I love them the way Frank Sinatra sings; heartily. 


    - I love flowers. The fragility, the beauty and the softness. 


    - I love music. I think I can sing and I use my spotify to write my feelings as playlist titles 


    - I like design. The research, color psychology, the beauty of nothingness to something. 


    - I hate noise. It gives me terrible migraines 


    - Oh God, I have terrible insomnia


    - I rewatch movies over and over again because I love familiarity and can't handle the anxiety of not knowing most times.


    - I am sorta kinda too emotional  

    


Well... I hope you enjoy my ramblings. 