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Her Song

I had an old song. One I always sung to myself. A tune I carried. The chorus repeating over and over. Feeling it to my core. That I was alone. In this world. It was meant to be. A reality. A defeat. Losing an urge to fight for more. For better.

A young child. A runaway. Consumed with fear. Intimately feeling I was better off in my own hands then anyone else’s.

A drop out. A drug user. Telling myself, “You’re going to get arrested. Ruin your chance at a future. A future your mother taught you was in your grasp. A future she prepared you for.”

But continuing a downward course. Instead choosing a part of me to die along with her. To bury any promise 6 feet under the dirt. My will. My sound. My melody. Covered with the absence of her lullaby.

The song I continued to recite as my destiny. My adoption only temporary. A family for a fleeting moment. Now, again, on my own. As if God’s will.

I set out in the world to fail. So no one could be disappointed. So there would be no expectations. Feeling no one was there. No one would notice.

But soon her lyrics would resurface. That jingle would mutate. My song would no longer fit. The inside no longer matching the chorus or the verse.

The core of her belief came to the forefront of my mind. Her belief I could no longer deny. Carrying a different tune. One I preferred to dance to.

One that was reminiscent of that childhood lullaby. A teaching of what I could become. Seeing I had a choice when others around me hadn’t been taught, cradled or sung to. They didn’t see how attainable a future was. A song, a dance, I only knew from her voice. Her whisper. Her showing me the steps and sway of the music.

I gave her melody a try. Going back to school two years after dropping out. I got a job after school. Learning to prepare, to save my money, to have a nest egg no one could take from me, in case I fell on hard times once again. I began to pass classes. To catch up. To see a glimpse of a potential I forgot to look for.

Dancing and stepping to a melody not my own. But one she planted. One I was meant to participate in. One my feet seemed to naturally find the rhythm to. A beat she instilled in me. A lullaby that was as real and loud as the heartbeat that pounded inside me.

I caught up. Got my diploma, Got accepted into a school. I began to have friends. Friends who saw me. I remembered what it felt like to laugh, to breathe, to daydream of a future. A future she showed me how to get.

Realizing the old song was a fear to go on without her. A change I was to scared to make. A leap of faith she taught me to take. A weakness I unintentionally focused on. Forgetting to see my strengths. Forgetting to believe in myself. Forgetting to believe in everything she said I was.

Her words, her song, her music she sung to a young child she took in as her own. A new song that would become the inner voice, the soundtrack, the orchestra I now spin and twirl to.

Her belief in me now my own. A new chant, a new story I would tell myself. A rebirth. A birth she officially gave me. Now feeling her soul rush through my veins instead of her blood. Her music, her song, flowing deeply inside.

A ballad I get to carry for the rest of my days. A gift I now get to transfer on. Passing on the whisper, the lullaby, the shift and the dance to my own son in hopes the music carries to another generation. Vibrating a new beat, a new tempo for a younger era. Instilling the same voice within him. The same belief, the same faith that change is possible. Change is needed. That his light beams brightly no matter how dim the world can seem. Seeing her now exist and flow in him as well. Her music continuing to impact more lives. Igniting more change. Creating more beauty. Bringing different notes and progression we can dance to and believe in. Remembering to keep singing, keep swaying to new songs of freedom. Songs my mother taught me to sing. Songs I will continue to hum.

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