I am Three.
Split in half by the separation of my parents, I was broken.
In the lavish world in which my father resided, I was a pretty puppet.
Dresses of tulle and red-soled heels I could not remember names of tried to befriend me, the hollow fragrance of a thousand expensive perfumes combining in the four-floored mansion to emit an odor of ostracism.
It was a world of materials. Nothing was genuine. Yet it is the only thing my mother regrets leaving behind when filing those papers.
Then why am I not
When I’m here?
A Maybach Mercedes opens its doors to return me to the airport. I won’t see it again until next year, and I regret not having tried harder to be happy. If only I’d get one more day, I could turn into the daughter my father wanted, and maybe he would finally tell me he loved me
and mean it.
But did I
The airplane’s doors open on the grounds of my home city.
The warm aura of love and genuine happiness buzz between my Mother, little sister, and I, as I rush to embrace them. It may only have been a week, but how I’ve missed them. I am home.
During the day, we laugh together. We go on last-minute adventures and midnight trips to McDonald’s. We watch TV shows in the park with Popcorn and Smoothies.
But during the night, we cry alone.
We move four apartments in one year, eviction after eviction. In the mornings I attend a private school financed by my Father, my chance at an independent future, filled with reflections of his world.
I think it won’t last, because the tuition payment keeps being delayed and
For no reason,
While his new golden Bentley arrives in his mansion.
Because I had been attending the school for years, led the Student Council, and never missed a listing on the Honor Roll, they allow me more time.
Until seven months have passed and exams are coming near. They take me out of class until
The tuition is paid
in time for the next bill to arrive
And the cycle to start
all over again.
I return home to find an official taking away our valuables, the rent bill frowning sadly on the table.
I hug my mother as I look down at the apprehensive face of my little sister, whose smile believes she will one day get the same education I did. It breaks her father’s heart that he cannot afford it, although I have not given up hope.
I will be a beacon for my sister and mother. Where she failed, I will not. Unlike her, I am not being married off at 15 years old. I am 19 and a first generation college student. I do not have dreams. I have goals.
No. I am more than two halves
Of a broken child
Growing up with a scar
In her heart.
I am me.
I can be allowed to dream.
I can be allowed to seek love
In others than my father.
I can be allowed to let my soul seep out
And touch those around me
Without fear of what they may think of my smile.
I can be allowed to be
For that is not something my circumstances decide for me.
I am three.
I am my father’s doll.
I am my mother’s everything.
But most importantly,