By Isabelle Mascary | Editor-in-Chief
From the night I took my very first breathe,
my childhood has been hectic.
A product of my own environment
condemned before I can crawl, walk, or speak,
unable to reject the many vices;
I was forced to accept and protect.
Using my imagination to escape this reality
and to illuminate my dreams because
my mind is the only room that can’t be taken away from me.
My imagination keeps me from becoming weary.
My thoughts and visions allow me to divulge
in the endless possibilities, despite the present conditions before me.
History is such a delicacy, but I would hate for it to repeat.
To break a generational curse, or to allow it to continue,
I’m at the bottom of the barrel, can it become any worse?
Grandfather was a grand sorcerer, he can disappear.
Grandmother danced with the spirits, she grew strength.
Father made deals with the devil; his children were sacrificial lambs.
Mother tried to play God but never wanted to be held accountable.
I paid the price of those who came before me but
now it’s my turn to conjure up the change I want to see.
This foolishness ends with me, I want a life of serenity!
The father of above and below, keep the chaos and the pain.
Washing these invisible wounds, while dancing in the rain.
From the night I took my very first breathe,
my life has been hectic, but I always made sure to
wear a nice black dress.
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