There is no room in my Margin for error. that’s how small this margin that contains me and my siblings of adoption. We fill the cracks in Adoptions sidewalk there are so many.

This marginalized nations way to big to be invisible anymore. And what’s rightfully ours is rightfully everyone’s here. Including and not excluding us. I’m tired of being orbited as part of the equation called adoption. I’m tired of folks not getting what we are saying. And having to explain day after day to folks that act like they don’t care. You need to care. This can happen to one of your own. Then what will you do? Nothing?

The status quo is in question. By us now. The grown up subjects of said experiment. And it’s time for the research to show our side.

When I was two my whole life blew up. When I was 9 it blew up again. Then ten almost blew up. Them blew up again at eleven when Elmer left us. Did Mama know that? Did she care? That’s the woman raising me was left. And alone with me? While she was living fancy free of me? Does she care what this woman went through for me? Is she grateful? Appreciative?

What is the right thing to do? To honor a woman like that who did not give up on me? Her daughter? Did not give up on me? Does that loyalty nor deserve a party? A thank you. A hug maybe? And her sister in arms extending her arms to say. Thank you sister for.

The help.