Family – a creative essay


Z.C. Angel

They love serving black and blue. I´m colorblind.

They wanted to go to church on Sundays to follow ¨The Lord¨ that no one ever saw. I wanted to play dolls in the attic with ¨The Goddess¨, my Barbie doll.

They forget everything I say. I remember everything they don´t say.

They want to be the first ones in line at a bargain sale at Wal-Mart. I wait in the car because no money equals no toy. (The car windows weren´t manual.)

They sometimes would wake up early to go have breakfast at Cracker Barrel. I would still be dreaming.

They knew I was gay. I thought I was human.

Their windows had locks. I asked countless times to put locks on my windows; however, I was raped by an intruder and my screams alerted them to run out the house; leaving me behind.

I´m allergic to pickles, cucumbers, and shell-fish. They server it every other day.

They literally hate me to my face at home, in public, at theme parks, and at flea markets. I love them behind their backs.

They introduce me as the lost one. I am the only one on the right path and in my right mind.

They´re always right. I´m left handed.

They once left me at a zoo by the lion´s den because ¨as a parent, one must teach independence.¨ I was later found at a stranger´s house.

They are alone, each one of them. I am surrounded by unconditional love and lots of colors.

They never hug me. They´re afraid of catching ¨the gay.¨ I hug their shadows. I´m afraid to catch ugliness.

They gave me the small room because according to them, ¨You´re not important enough to have a big room; you´re too  sinful for a big room; and you´ll have a devil party.¨ I wanted the small room.

They will never remember me as a teacher, a  loyal partner, a supporter, son, brother, or just plain me. In their eyes, I will always be the lost one.

Too bad for them. I found my way.


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