The Weight of Her Voice
The agony defines me.
Being told you’re too fat for a bikini,
Too ugly to be out in public,
And too childish—
Like a 15-year-old can’t play?
I used to love this town.
My friends, my blog, my family,
My chaotic Christian life
Which sometimes starts to sway.
I’ve been cursed at, broken down,
And beaten.
I’ve felt like this broken curse of a girl,
But now I’m just defeated.
She did it again today.
June 16, 2025.
She made me question who I am,
Like I’m not a phoenix bound to fly.
But it felt different this time, because normally it was a joke—
Not funny, of course.
Because if no one in the room is laughing,
Why does it matter?
Sometimes I question:
Why?
Did I do something?
But then I realized it was just her.
Her spirit,
Her life,
Her face—
Taunting and bullying me
Is like a weight lifted off her chest.
Today’s “truth” was cruel.
She berated me and covered it up with “honesty.”
Now I have no hope of who I am.
I think she missed the memo:
Honesty without kindness is cruelty.
I know who God intended me to be.
But the agony defines me,
The heartbreak lives within me,
And the growth went unseen.
Because if she had seen how much I’ve grown,
She would get over her cauldron and cast her spell,
The chant going:
“I must bring her down, when all is well.”
You're supposed to be my sister—adopted or not.
My bloodline defines me.
So I guess all hope is lost.
But my kids won’t grow up like this.
To see you as a bully.
To see me become like you.
To transform into a dragon
Instead of the warrior that I know.
You were supposed to be my backbone.
My twin.
My “for the plot.”
But instead, you tear me down—
Which is unbeknownst to most.
They think you’re great in public.
But they will never know what goes on at home.
The beatings.
The stoning.
The tones.
The things that are said—
But never shown.
So here it is: all the hitting waves,
Tears of your little sister
Who’s now turning the page.
Because you didn’t know sympathy.
Never even heard its name.
Because you thought of me as the enemy—
Which has never swayed.
9 months to 15 years.
Blood, sweat, and copper tears.
A war that she started
But now has to finish.
I won’t fight though.
It’s not my problem.
It’s just my life.
But Psalm 3:8—
That’s what I need to return to.
My anchor. My hope. My healing.
But after I leave for college…
If you don’t change—
I won’t come back.
To a world of chaos
waiting to be unwrapped
- Love, r0ckstar💫
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