Every word I write estranges my parents further. I’m literally writing them out of my life. Not sure how I feel about that. Do I stay silent and still be rejected and let my story die with me? I know they’re out of my life anyway, as long as I reject the religion that’s taken them from me. But was that all that did it?
I’m coming to terms with realizing they Just. Don’t. Like. Me. And never will. Although the fierce feminine side is all from my mother. The dreamer side is all my father. I’m a delightful product of their best traits and they’ll never see it.
A Burd in Flight 