When we're good, we are great. But..is it worth the bad times?
When it's someone I love, it's hard to let go. But sometimes I feel like that's what I should do. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words break my heart.
Family...What is family to me? Family is my shelter. My protectors. The ones to make me feel stupid when I dress slutty or preppy, or to make me feel comfortable with weird things like toenails, farting, or armpit hair from onions. They're to be annoying when I'm trying to date, but at least I know I'm loved.They know all your back ground stories, your habits, your inside jokes. So when family members hate me, don't seem to care, that hurts more than anyone could hurt me. So why is it that families fight the most?
I ran away once. I think I was twelve or something. Hid in the neighbors yard and the trailer. My sister came out for me but I was mad. I wasn't coming back. But I never left the neighborhood. Our family friend came to the door, and I stupidly came out of hiding to tell her no one was home. I spent the rest of the day with her. Later, I found out my mother had sent her. I need her again. I want her again.
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