I am a Writer…

My mother says I’m a writer with dirty glasses and ink covered hands. Possessing the ability to imagine far off lands that ring truth into this world.

My birth order says I am the oldest of a set of twins with a younger sibling. some days my sisters say I’m the worst, others the best. I’m not sure which I truly am yet or if I’m simply in the middle.

Andie says I’m her best friend. Attached to the hip since kindergarten. Someone who she can confide in and I her. Even with miles between us now that is something I’m sure of.

People say I’m a singer because I can project my voice forward to other’s ears and it is a pleasant sound and I can do it in front of crowds.

They say I am graceful and composed because I can remain calm when something goes wrong with my music track (which is often) when I try to perform at church.

My parents say I am an artist because they think I can draw. I’m not sure if I can or not but it is something that brings me joy so I keep active in it.

My mother says I’m stubborn with my determined ways, opinions, and convictions. She claims she doesn’t know where I get it from but we both know that it is her genes and likeness I possess more than anyone else in my bloodline.

The cowards online that hide behind an anonymous masks claim I’m lazy, delusional, a liar and many other painful things that sometimes I cannot help but believe is true.

People say I’m strong because I have survived things some haven’t. I’ve fought for my life in many forms but is that supposed to test my courage? I didn’t survive because I posses bravery or strength but because I didn’t have a choice.

The world says a lot of things about the parts of me. About the fat, opinionated, feminist, Christian, girl that they break apart like a jigsaw puzzle that’s already complete.

This society has assumptions about the different parts of me. They claim they know all of me when they only know rumor or shallow beliefs of what the parts of me are like.

My body, which is fat is seen as lazy, and with no control. My mind that is opinionated and has feminist views is often assumed to be extreme and man hating. My soul that holds the love of God in it is viewed as narrow minded and ignorant. My female gender is told to be small, frail, and invisible, submissive to man.

People think they know me because they know parts of me. Imagine how astonished you would be if you could view my entire mind and being.

My mother says I am Rachel. Who are you?

Peace&Love,

Rai

 

 

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About railynnt

This is my blog, a place where I can share my writing and journey through recovery, mental illness, and life.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to I am a Writer…

  1. This is very good!!! Enjoyed it!!!

    Like

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