SCARS

Don’t get me wrong, I love my foster mother with all my heart. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me, but together with her love, she gave me something else I would never wish on any one. Not even on my worst of enemies.

I carry around scars that I never asked for. They are part of me as much as I wish they were not. For some time I was glad to have them. I smiled when anyone noticed them because for me, they made me resemble her in some way.

Now, I carry them as nightmares that I desperately need to wake up from. I am scared of turning out like her. She has changed a lot and I know that its old age but I am scared that that’s exactly where am heading. She has taken good care of me ever since she adopted me but I wish I could only have the good sides of her in my system.

I listen to her speak to people, discuss ideas or even defend her ideas and my heart tells me that it is very wrong. The way she puts things across is wrong. Then it hits me that I do the same thing. I never notice when doing it because am not on the receiving end.

I listen to her and its like am looking in a mirror. i don’t ever want to make people feel like their opinions don’t matter, and I know she doesn’t either. she just hasn’t realized she does that.

I wish that the scars I carry would be of the good old days and not the undesirable future am perceiving ahead of me. I hunger for change; for a change in me. So I sleep everyday pleading with God to change my heart. To change my relation with people and most importantly, to grant me my foster mother’s patient and loving heart.

Published by Eudia

i have a passion in telling stories, its the bit writing that am worried about

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