I Come from Fear and more by Jameka Reynolds

I Come from Fear and more by Jameka Reynolds

Jameka ReynoldsI Come from Fear

I come from fear.

I come from 3 a.m. calls to the cops because my mom is laid out in a puddle of blood.

I come from looking into her black eyes as she tells me that she still loves him.

I come from feeling afraid because my heart always get walked on; I don’t understand why.

I come from looking for acceptance in a man, my mom’s ex-boyfriend, because my father was never there to give me the love I needed.

I come from growing up fast because being immature and a child gets you nowhere.

I come from the fear of losing my mom to her boyfriend and trying to break away knowing I’d have nothing and no one. I’d be alone, and on my own, leaving everything behind.

I come from short fatherless days, and long motherless nights.

I come from not letting anyone close to me because I fear company.

I come from the place where music silences my thoughts, words become absent from my mouth, and my smile hides my pain.

I come from the fear of not knowing if I’ll wake up one day and everything I’ve worked hard for will be gone.

I come from trying to live in my future because the present keeps leading me to the past.

I come from where being strong becomes a mood and smiling is only a cover up.

I come from a little place called fear, and it’s hard to explain what is here, but I’m here.

I come from fear.


15 Years Gone

I never really open up about the subject of prison.
I don’t know how to put my words together to tell my story.
I never knew there were people out there feeling the same pain I feel
The pain of losing my father to the prison system at the age of 2 and being raised by a single mother of 3.
The pain of not getting to be daddy’s little girl, and telling dad that boys are bullying me at school because I had short hair or I was too black.
The pain of seeing my mother struggle because daddy wasn’t there.
The pain of my father seeing my first steps through prison glass and his not being there on my first day of school.
The pain of birthday cards in the mail instead of enjoying my father’s presence on my special day.
I never really coped with the idea of my father being gone. I learned to live without him because I never really remember living a life with him.
Until now.
And 15 years of my life without him close by.
I didn’t understand why it had to happen to me.
I didn’t understand why I had to be the little black fatherless girl with the struggling mother.
I didn’t understand, why me?
I’ve never really forgiven my father for leaving me. I’ve never really forgiven him for leaving me hanging without an explanation.
For leaving me hanging on Father-Daughter Dance Day while I danced with my mother; that wasn’t her job!
I’ve never forgiven him for not being by my side when I cried myself to sleep from a heartbreak because he wasn’t here to tell me to stay away from boys.
I’ve never forgiven him for even trying to be my father.
Prison took more than my father away from me.
When they took him away, they took my heart.
Now I’m stuck.
At 17 and trying to be daddy’s little girl.

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