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Coralynn Roller

Updated: Sun, 7 Aug 2022 03:48 pm


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I was born into a small but rapidly growing business, created and owned by my mother and later my father. This place could be considered almost an older sibling to me. I spent my whole life inside there. Working, helping, having fun and losing a lot of attention from both my parents. My father is and always has been a very talented artist and musician. Also an alcoholic. My mother, also a very talented artist, was my savior in many dark and scary nights when my father would come home drunk and some would call demonic in a way. I was left alone often, luckily I was not much for getting into trouble in my early years. Other than one day after preschool, I took a pair of scissors and cut my long, blonde braid right off. Even at preschool age, I hated school and I hated being away from my parents. I begged everyday from preschool until I dropped out of high school at the end of 9th grade, not to go. Many times when I cried and pleaded for them not to send me they let me stay home. But it was work or school. So quickly I had a job at the store with them. I have never been much for customer service, but I tried for a very very long time. Until just today (July 28th 2022). When my mother and father divorced after a series of traumatizing events for a young girl, my dad had a few different women in his life. And everytime he got a new one I was left in the dust. Ignored for weeks at a time or ditched everytime we made plans, or when he came through for me I had to be around him while he was scary and drunk. This left me with so much pain, feeling abandoned and never enough for him to put the bottle down. I was broken pretty early on, probably even before they divorced. My escape was my writing. My mother has a bleeding heart for everyone, especially people who deserve nothing more than to be sitting right where they are. Of course she doesn't see it that way. She always wants to help everyone, even at the cost of her relationships with family, financial well being, and her own mental health. This has and still does cause many issues for the two of us, as I am very different in that regard. When I was 16 I met a man, a 27 year old grown man. As a not so smart 16 year old who never had much attention of that kind in my life, I accepted it without question. I badly wanted to be sought after. I didn't know at the time this was terribly wrong for a 27 year old to be giving this kind of attention to a 16 year old. And my mother knew if she tried to stop me I would have just run away to do it anyway, and she wanted to make sure I would at least keep her close if she didn’t take it away from me. Only a few months into the “relationship” we were on our way to buy a beautiful great dane puppy! Though that came with a catch, I couldn’t have her at my mom’s. So I moved into a cabin with no electricity or running water that was barely completed, with an abusive older man. I was so scared to leave and scared to stay. But I stayed, I wanted my dog and my freedom. I felt like a real adult, “my own” place (no it was his prison for me), no school, and my beautiful dog who I loved more than anything else. He didn’t have a real job most of the 8 years we stayed together (Though I did get the courage to leave him a few times in that time frame). Sometimes he worked, but not much. I worked all the time, and most days he would be at my job waiting for me to get done. The mental, physical and sexual abuse was more often than not. Again my only escape was my writing. There is always a way out. I got out, I got out but not away. For the next few years my mother’s bleeding heart has bled for him. Keeping him busy with work around the store or her other properties, at my expense. Because now at age 29 I can finally understand what happened to me at his hands. I’ve had to deal with seeing my abuser more times than I’d like in my day to day life, because she wanted him around. I am finally getting away after having gotten out years ago. Sometimes these things follow you for a long time. Choices. Why I write Darkness brought my poetry to light. Sadness made my short words grow into poetry. Feeling so misunderstood as a young girl gave me the passion to write my feelings in a poetic way. Hard childhoods, and an abusive adolescence was my catalyst. They set my stage and rigged the lights. From those times of pain bloomed my deepest passion, writing. Thank you for the hard times, you turned me into a writer. Writing feeds my soul, and consoles me when I feel alone. If my writing can help someone who feels lost, alone and broken, I’ve done my job. I write not only to help myself, but in hopes someday, someone will need my words to bring them strength or compassion.

Red tree

It's like a burst of fire Through a sea of green Like the light you see When you imagine your hopes And your dreams Those are my red leaves you see And my red tree That bursts with the fiery red In an envious sea of green

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