True Blue By MwsR

Someone asked me to write my story

It would never be a simple story to tell

Too many undertones and whispers

Too many foes that wished me hell.

A true blue would had never been written into my story

The lines that would of been left for that, would not exist.

So many times the plot of my chapters would be changed

I would be the villian in one chapter

And in the next I would had been the victim.

For chapters and chapters my story would have had changes

In real life , I searched for happiness over my pain

Waited often for that true blue

But sadly no one came to fit into those shoes

Each individual I encountered and lived with

Would of written their own versions of my story

In it I am sure they would had been heroes or protectors

At least that is what they told me and themselves.

They only wanted what was best,

But their best gave me no rest

Their best caused me anguish and pain

They pierced through my heart and went straight to the vein

Suddenly as if I would of known

I had to leave that chaotic home

My innocent was gone

But I proved I could make it, on my own

But nothing was ever the same.

My true blue later came

I married him.

He was the reward and I was the grabber

Showing me all the time what a true blue looks like

How they will stay and fight

For those they hold dear

And the things that mattered, all these years

His love is sufficient, his touch is the glue

I am so thankful my story will have a true blue.

All rights reserved. MwsR2021

The Thought Of

You, by MwsR

There you are, in all your armor

Throwing daggers into open windows.

You care not for settling things

Or giving opinion to the heartache that you bring.

Why must one settle just to have you?

Like you would care, if that could ensue.

I don’t think much of the things that were told

Just your lack of concern and what made you so bold?

Worthless are the words,

Deliberate the actions, all of it absurd!

Spite can be given in foolish attempts

Smothered by someone’s contempt

Would had suited you better to run away

That is how cowards try to evade.

The hurt that you caused sank deep into the fibers

Nothing will ever be able to get those out.

I hope being satisfied made you a hero in your world

Because you can’t be anymore to us.

Your actions have consequences and reactions

Your time without any blame is gone.

Go ahead tell yourself it wasn’t you

But our whole family knows it isn’t true.

Blame another is you want

You’ll be the one who has to live without,

We surely won’t.

The thought of you brings sadness

Hopefully we all can escape this madness!


Remembering is healing….By MwsR

I appreciate the food, the things I was given
I want to think you for the love that you did give.
Some memories were good, I will always remember.
I won’t forget the good food we had at dinner.
All the time I lived with you was not bad or terrible or sad
There were moments throughout it I was especially glad.
I loved the smell of your pillowcases or gowns,
The ones I would dress up in and prance around.
I loved the color you let me pick out for my room
And you’re sending me to a good school that taught the golden rule.
It was good to live near a creek where I often played
And brought home all those bags of clay.
I enjoyed the swing set you bought for me
I thought of it as a castle, among other things.
I enjoyed going to church and being with friends
If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have been.
I remember playing with your hair and acting like a beautician
Rubbing your back and feeling important.
I wish things had not changed as I grew older,
Between us…but it did.
I long for the peaceful times I had as a kid.
It was not all bad but it changed
I wish somehow things had not been so deranged.
So for all the joy, the part I had
I want to say Thank you, and for the bad.
It made me different, gave me a new perspective
A new outlook, and helped me to save my heart and keep it from being defective.
Sometimes things just don’t work out the way we want. Sometimes we have to escape things that on our heart will haunt.
I heal by writing, by loving my children.
I heal by moving on and keeping on believing.
I choose hope over defeat.
I want to walk instead of feeling beat
Sometimes we have to love people from afar,
I just wish it had not been us, because it reminds me of a scar.

All rights reserved. MwsR 2019

THOUGHTS…From the Black Sheep

Fondly remembering my childhood days, from when I would wander around outside playing, often following a path leading to my backyard creek, I almost get lost in the excitement of it all. I often forget that everything back then was not always great…

Why is it we often deceive ourselves? From my personal experience, I often do it, to keep my spirit from falling down around me. Sometimes, if we face our worst moments, it can be discouraging and often times scarring to our souls. If we don’t have to come to terms with a bad situation, or a bad experience, we can sweep it aside until we are able to deal with it. Is this wrong? Shouldn’t we all try and face our problems, head on and not run from them? Others would say yes, while many of us, say it varies, it changes with each individual situation. Not everything is the same for each of us. We are, after all, individuals from different walks, different cultures, and different places. So with that being said, here is from my perspective.

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Image result for Black Sheep ClipArt

Childhood, the sights, the new experiences, the excitement and the not so good times. I grew up in a family of five. Mother, Father, Daughter, Me, and a Brother, and yes, I was a middle child. Yay, me! Not. Being a middle child was anything but pleasant. It seemed I was never old enough to do the big stuff, but yet not young enough to get away with anything. I felt I was always held accountable for what my little brother did. He seemed to be a mischievous one, whose experiments always landed us in trouble, and who got off from punishment, simply by being the youngest. I was always told, “I should of known better.”

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My sister was older than me, by eight years. She was busy doing her “older things” most of the time, and I hardly saw her. Between her schooling and her jobs, she kept pretty busy and scarcely at our home. I missed her when she wasn’t around. She was fun to follow and fun to watch. She got to do cool things and she even drove herself to wherever she needed or wanted to go. That was a pretty big deal for me. I dreamt of the day I would follow in her footsteps. But for now, I was the middle one, the one who got hand me down clothes and the one who was too young to follow my sister to events, and yet old enough to watch over my little brother, thus making me responsible for us staying out of trouble. Which I might add, was very unfair. My brother had a mind of his own. Although sometimes it was a fun time, it often finished in my grounding or spanking. Sometimes I swear that was his ploy, to get me into trouble.

This one particular time I remember is when we decided to fish with a rod in the living room. We used an actual fishing rod, my mom had a chandelier hanging down in the living room, and this time, it was tied up in fishing line. I do not know what my brother was thinking. although we both were guilty, we had stood on our living room table and before we both contemplated what would happen next, we had tied a fishing line around our mom’s chandelier. Uh ho! We both were in big trouble. I wish you could imagine what it looked like. A three-tier chandelier, with crystal goblets and crystal tear-shaped jewels, with a clear fishing line twisted in and out through it. It was going to be a long ditch effort to fix this, and guess who would have to? Me! Needless to say, I worked my butt off trying to untangle that fishing rod. Sad to say, my mom walked in about the time I was almost done and she was not happy. I got in trouble and my brother was scolded, I had a belt taken to my butt and an ear full of do’s and don’ts.

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Thinking back on it all, I sometimes laugh at the things that often time got me in trouble. Just like this story of the fishing rod. When I remember it, I remember the anger I had at being the only one who received a spanking and yet, I smile because it was a crazy thing for two kids to do while their parents were out. Funny how a situation can be both crazy funny, and yet so unfairly dealt with at the same time. That was not the only time being the middle child made me the scapegoat for my little brother. I guess that is also what happens when you were the “black sheep” of the family.

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Short Story Share


I wade through the Christmas morning obstacle course, around the scattered toys and books and abandoned candy canes. I grab a crumpled ball of wrapping paper and stuff it deep inside an overflowing trash bag full of tinsel and tape and cardboard packages. When the bag begins to overflow, I stuff the last handful of Christmas cheer into its plastic prison and tie it shut.

My siblings were happy to have me home from school, for the first hour. They then promptly forgot that they hadn’t seen me in months, and returned to bickering, sugar cookies,and singing Christmas carols out of tune. I sift through the aftermath of their Christmas morning, and clean up the wreckage. I head for the door.

“Don’t forget the crockpot,” my mother calls, “Take it to the dumpster, too.”

I carry the overfilled garbage bag and the old crockpot outside to the dumpster, into the cold, wet December afternoon. I consider how funny it is that my mother received this fine kitchen appliance on this same day, a year ago, and it has somehow already found its way to the dumpster. I open the lid and toss it in, along with the wrapping paper, the packages, the candy canes, and tinsel. I look up the street, at the soggy paper luminaries.

Everything is on its way out, isn’t it? I like being surprised when a kitchen appliance lasts more than a year, but why am I surprised in the first place? It’s almost like everything is just in a different state of being thrown away. Everything is going to get trashed; it’s just a matter of time.

How long will it be before we trash that brand new coffee maker we unwrapped this morning? Or the iPad? Or the new set of coffee mugs? How long will those things last? Five years? Ten? Twenty years?

I pull my brand new scarf and sweater tighter over my shoulders, and hesitate, before going back inside. I wonder, how long until I throw them out, too? How long before I tear a hole in the sweater, or the scarf gets lost?

Everything is just in a different stage of being thrown out, I’m sure of it. Everything is headed for the trash—the only difference is the amount of time it takes to get there. And that’s scary as hell. What is not going to end up in the trash, eventually? Anything?

My mind wanders, and I step back inside. My younger siblings clamber around the TV, eating candy canes and sugar cookies, watching Linus Van Pelt monologue about Christmas trees needing love.

Maybe that was it. Maybe this cliché answer of “Love and Christmas Cheer” is the one that won’t end up in the trash. Maybe love is the one thing that’s not on a path to the landfill. Maybe the Beatles really were right, and it’s as simple as that. If that were true, though, I think we would have better answers for everything.

“Watch Charlie Brown with us!” my little sister yells at me, as I turn to leave. There’s no escaping my siblings. When they want something from me, it’s as good as theirs. So I sit down beside them, and watch Lucy Van Pelt declare Charlie Brown a completely hopeless loser.

It’s not love. Love is erased when everything melts. Love is dependent on the people who carry it, the people who nurture it, the people who use it. My sister leans her head against me, and I understand that there is only one thing not destined for the trash.


That’s cliché, too. Almost as cliché as love. But it seems inarguable. Even when you’re in the ground, there’s no way to become unrelated to your siblings, or your parents, or your children. There’s no way to disconnect from them. You’ll always be family to them, and they’ll always be family to you, whether or not you like it. You can try to forget them, or disown them, or escape them, but they’re always there.

It’s in your DNA, and no escaping that.

“Do you wanna watch the Grinch with us?” my little sister asks me, as Charlie Brown ends.

I smile.