This is my history

Californian, 

born and raised.

I've never left or moved away.

And I was a happy girl,

Until that day. 

The day that the white van took me, 

because my brother lied to the jury.

Called CPS, my mother told me.

Made her stand in front of a judge, 

who found her guilty, 

because he believed a boy with no bruises or blood.

I was five years old. 

I didn't have a clue. 

All that I knew, 

was that I missed my mommy, 

and she missed me too.

In between my confusion and all the trauma, 

I was forced to call strange women "momma."

I was passed on from home to home, 

and I don't think I ever felt so alone, 

because each one of them found something wrong.

Months went by, 

and I finally went back to my real home. 

And my old friends were waiting, 

but it was like I didn't know them.

I had to get used to not feeling alone.

For just a little girl of five, now turned six, 

the whole experience felt like years. 

There were so many visits, 

and so many tears. 

Who knows when she will ever be fixed?

I was so little, 

and I needed my mom. 

But did that matter to my brother?

No, because he was wrong. 

He was supposed to protect me from harm, 

because that's what brothers do, right?

Not my brother, because all he did was sound the alarm, 

against my mom.

But, next thing I know, years have passed. 

I couldn't leave those memories behind, 

because they still lingered at the back of my mind.

Those months of my life, 

I'll never have back. 

Those months of my life, 

left the little girl that I was, torn in half.

The little girl that once was, was no longer inside.

She was forced to face the real world, 

and she could not run and hide.

Because her big brother thought he was grown up, 

so he made choices for himself, 

that drowned out all other voices.

So, we moved down south, 

Mom, Dad, and me. 

From a small little town to a big city. 

I didn't know anyone, 

and they didn't even see me.

My brother moved back when he was seventeen. 

But he still thought he was high and mighty. 

I have never even told him what he truly did to me, 

but he's an arrogant, narcissistic, "man." 

So why tell him anyway?

I will never forget that day, 

the day the van came. 

And I will never forget the months that came after, 

because they are a part of the first chapter, 

of this life, my life, that I remember.

Now, more years have passed, 

and my life has gone on. 

I have experienced loss, and success, and I've moved on.

I've grown up, 

I'm not so stuck, 

in the past anymore.

In fact, I have much to be happy for. 

I still get sad, but I am pretty happy. 

And to be honest, 

without the struggles and triumphs I have been through,

I don't really know where else I would be.

This life I live is still being written currently. 

But overall, this is my history.