Family
Brain Surgery
Most authors tell young writers to write about what they know. At times that can be difficult since what you know is very personal to you. You want to write about fantasy, fiction, anything else except what is actually personal to you with maybe a hint in your stories about the person you are in writing it.
By Paul Deosaran4 years ago in Confessions
12 Years a Slave
12 years a slave. For 12 years I was married to a bad decision. Someone who I knew from the beginning was a piece of work. A piece of work I thought I could fix. Someone I thought I could love enough, heal enough to bring out the best in him. The best in us! Oh how I was wrong. Almost like a dog returns to their vomit, this man returned to what was always there before he was even gone. I think that’s what hurts the most. I thought I was loved differently. Thought I was seen and loved for who I really am. The whole time I was being cased like a bank. Robbers come in dressed as normal patrons, acting as if they belong, only to find the weakest points so that they can take as much as they can, as quick as they can. Except in my case it wasn’t quick. My chosen husband was probably licking his lips in anticipation on how much he could take from me without actually giving anything.
By Alicia Larkins4 years ago in Confessions
SINGLE MOTHER
SINGLE MOTHER - a mother who brings up a child or children alone, without a partner. It happens when the father is dead or the mother is a divorcee and looks after the children all by herself. My case was none of the two. It was a mutual separation, and I took the responsibility of the children all alone. And then started my journey as a single mother.
By Nira Kumari4 years ago in Confessions
Confessions of a Desperate Mom
These are the confessions of a mother named Sabrina. A mother of 6 locked in an abusive manipulative relationship. In our modern day and age, it’s easy to dismiss middle class women when they are in abusive relationships outside physically abusive. Have you ever noticed that?
By JfD4 years ago in Confessions
Reflections
This is not going to be a short story so strap in and possibly grab some popcorn if that's your thing. for me it’s a nice glass of scotch (however the bottle is very close) that is needed as writing this is going to force me to confront some very deep intrenched demons that I have spent the better part of my life trying to bury. I got the inspiration to do this after a very dear friend of mine started posting on here some of the struggles he is currently going through, and with Recent events happening in my life with someone very close to me. Her situation which is not exactly the same as what I went through, but many of the situations I have found myself in when I hit rock bottom in my life are mirrored by things she is going through at this very moment. And my lack of ability to help her has made me feel like maybe I have not done enough in my life to confront my darker chapters.
By Timothy Kelley4 years ago in Confessions
Sunlight And Driving
The light was green, yet the car did not move. Honks arose from the vehicles behind him, and the woman in the passenger seat yelled for him to “DRIVE”. The light changed to yellow, then red. He looked at his passenger with tearing eyes. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it” and he waved his hands frantically to the traffic behind him. Angry stares and even angrier hand gestures greeted his gaze in the mirror.
By Yess Bryce5 years ago in Confessions
We called her Gog
Gnocchi, bow-tie pasta, small lollipops, butterscotch treats and strawberry candies, are what come to mind when I think about her. A house that at the time seemed larger then life. A small toy room with outdated toys, hi-ho-a-cherrio, pick-up-stix, and a small train that was used to roll around the hallways.
By abby ashton5 years ago in Confessions
A song for Piette
There was a crystal clear moment when Piette and I realised that we were not two souls sharing the same body. The differences were readily apparent - blood poured from my eyes while tears bled from hers, my hands shook while hers gesticulated bladely, she whirled in anger with her spinning claws while I huddled on the floor trying to hold my face together. Actually, the cuts were superficial, as was her fury, and both healed relatively quickly. She hadn’t moved - the knife had sprung in to her hand from the bench.
By The Twilight Zane5 years ago in Confessions
"Well, Actually..."
My adult son is smart, ethical, and socially aware. I’m incredibly proud to have raised a human whose principles cause him to speak up, and to actively support social causes that promote peace and justice. He is extremely comfortable challenging people when their comments could be interpreted as racist, homophobic, or otherwise offensive. At least, he seems to have no trouble telling me when my words are questionable. “Well, that’s a very middle-age white woman thing to say,” he told me recently. I’m never quite certain if he is teasing me, or actually concerned about statements that I have made. I think maybe it’s a little of both. For the most part, even though he is often quick to react, I appreciate his passion and ability to challenge me to consider my own words, and behaviors.
By Allison Rice5 years ago in Confessions
