Green Shines
The smell of freshly cut grass made the tiny hairs on my neck stand up. It was a Monday. I. Hate. Mondays. The sunrise from my window wasn’t making things any better. I didn’t want to get up. So I didn’t. It’s not like my mother cared much anyway. She’s so fearful she barely wants me going to school, outside, or anywhere. That’s my mother for you. She never knew when to stop trying to protect me or how old I actually had become, because she still guarded me like a lion to its kill.
There are so many of us it’s like every morning I see a new face, a new sister or brother or frightening man in my house. I miss my dad. Sometimes I feel like if I had him I could fly. He’s not dead. He’s just a prisoner to the system but a man who had a good life. I miss my dad.
But on this Monday morning it was cold. The wind screamed and moaned for me to let it in. I blanketed the door and started on some old homework from a week back. I wrote Fox all over my wall, and printed countless pictures …show more content…
“Why do you always choose me to pick on? You wouldn’t hit the rest like you hit me!” Sometimes I felt as if It was my duty to protect him from all the hate he gets tossed in his face. And on his body. And in his heart. I didn’t want him ruined, troubled, and on meds like he use to be because no one would pay him time a day to actually see what was wrong. No one ever asked him what’s his favorite color, what does he want from the store, or which movie he wanted to play next. He was depressed and I could tell. It was the simple things mom. The simple things. You may have still had him if you treated him like a son. Maybe if you asked him how was his day, what would you like to eat today, or hey, what are you drawing over there? Maybe if you could see that you were killing him inside. Maybe if you were his mother instead of his carrier. Maybe if you appreciated the things he did for you because he loved you. Maybe if you loved
The smell of freshly cut grass made the tiny hairs on my neck stand up. It was a Monday. I. Hate. Mondays. The sunrise from my window wasn’t making things any better. I didn’t want to get up. So I didn’t. It’s not like my mother cared much anyway. She’s so fearful she barely wants me going to school, outside, or anywhere. That’s my mother for you. She never knew when to stop trying to protect me or how old I actually had become, because she still guarded me like a lion to its kill.
There are so many of us it’s like every morning I see a new face, a new sister or brother or frightening man in my house. I miss my dad. Sometimes I feel like if I had him I could fly. He’s not dead. He’s just a prisoner to the system but a man who had a good life. I miss my dad.
But on this Monday morning it was cold. The wind screamed and moaned for me to let it in. I blanketed the door and started on some old homework from a week back. I wrote Fox all over my wall, and printed countless pictures …show more content…
“Why do you always choose me to pick on? You wouldn’t hit the rest like you hit me!” Sometimes I felt as if It was my duty to protect him from all the hate he gets tossed in his face. And on his body. And in his heart. I didn’t want him ruined, troubled, and on meds like he use to be because no one would pay him time a day to actually see what was wrong. No one ever asked him what’s his favorite color, what does he want from the store, or which movie he wanted to play next. He was depressed and I could tell. It was the simple things mom. The simple things. You may have still had him if you treated him like a son. Maybe if you asked him how was his day, what would you like to eat today, or hey, what are you drawing over there? Maybe if you could see that you were killing him inside. Maybe if you were his mother instead of his carrier. Maybe if you appreciated the things he did for you because he loved you. Maybe if you loved