It happened at the odd house on Greenthumb Drive. That house had the ugliest fireplace in the middle of the living room with a large pipe that hung from the ceiling, suspended by chains.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
It happened at the odd house on Greenthumb Drive. That house had the ugliest fireplace in the middle of the living room with a large pipe that hung from the ceiling, suspended by chains.
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I could barely understand her in between the heaving sobs and the words tumbling out quickly, but I did catch enough to know she was alone and feeling unseen and unwanted.
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My grandmother reaches up from her hospital bed and cups my cheek with her shaky hand.
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“Loser. Creep. Stupid.” The words stung as much as the icy wind that whipped at my face.
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I remember the day my mother shared with me a little bit of her story as a young girl.
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I have stuffed so much of me down into me; I sometimes choke on the regurgitation of me.
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I grew up in a war zone. My bunker was my bedroom where I dug deep into the recesses of my inner being searching for safety.
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T’is a mother in my life who feels all alone waiting for something completely unknown
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When I was a little girl, I dreamed about becoming a mother.
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