But that day is not today.
I am no longer welcome at home.
According to the woman who birthed and raised me, I am a “drunk fag.” If I ever get married, she has told me she will not attend. 203 more words
Run away from your mom who is mad that you are a picky eater!
A thrilling, addictive casual running game about running away from your mom who is mad that you are a picky eater! 78 more words
“Are you sad about the house?” my mother asks in a faraway voice that has a pleading undercurrent equally torn between ‘I-don’t-want-to-be-the-one-who’s-caused-you-pain,’ and, ‘please-ask-me-the-same-question-because-I’m-devastated.’ I pause, mulling over my answer as if it’s a bitter piece of my dinner that I can’t quite swallow. 272 more words