It’s not about you…

I love my children very much, but I feel ad though I am a failure as a father, I have not been real successful in my career choices, and have not been real stable. I did time in prison the first time was for a crime I did not commit, the second time was for violating my parole the third time I was with some friends who were taking scrap wire from a yard that belonged to an energy company, I was wrong and served a year in prison. I jave been arrested several times and served many short stints in the county jail, most of which were for missing court dates for driving without a license, anyhow I have not been a steady figure in my sons lives, now they are all grown up, and they treat me as though I am a piece of shit, as they have stated several times. If i was to pass away today i would feel as tho i am a complete failure, because i really want to become financially stable so that they can be proud of me, and so that I can make up for all the times i mist their birthdays and christmas. I also want to be able to buy them a car and to take them on very special vacations. I have been playing the guitar since I was twelve years old and have always wanted to be a performer, And i refuse to be like everyone else, stuck in a career that I hate, so i will continue to pursue my dreams and in the meantime I hope and pray that I get discovered or this internet marketing pays off. I am a great guitarist and can play almost every song on the radio. So hopefully I will meet the right people .

Because I'm Fabulous

I remember being pregnant with my children, feeling as their gentle flutters progressed into full belly flops on my bladder and painful karate kicks against the backs of my ribs. Back then I had no clue what my children would be like; they were more like ideas than real people. I’d sit in my rocking chair with my hands clasped gently over my stomach and wonder who they’d be. Dreaming of children who loved singing as much as me; envisioning singing rounds, our voices weaving together in harmony.

Then they were born. Short, chubby, bald people who looked a lot more like Winston Churchill than either their Dad or myself. People that screamed randomly, pooped on themselves, and considered “gah” to be an entire conversation. I still had no idea what they were like except loud, messy, and highly uncoordinated. They slowly evolved into their own people. Emma was colicky and had a desperate need to be…

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