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The first two years were a blur,
only aged photographs
stored in a broken binded capsule of memories
to prove existence of where we came from,
who we belong to, and why.
Eyewitness accounts stated when
we learned to walk and talk,
but the stories always shifted
telling a tale of lies.
They say we were all “blessings,” even
though underneath our sweet
grins we caused pain. Crying,
Screaming, leaving them exhausted
without a sliver of hope that it would all stop.
Ten chubby fingers and toes prematurely
crinkled up like raisins that ripped apart
their insides and separated two people
who thought they would be in love forever.
We have no recollection of this era,
that caused pain and depression
when it was supposed to bring joy.
We were filled with abundant amounts of love that we cannot give back
until we fully know what it takes to love a child.