The Truth

The Truth

A Poem by ToriSchrodi
"

This is the truth that I've never shared with anyone. The truth about how I really feel about my adoption and the discovery of my biological family.

"

I don’t really know what this is.

I wouldn’t call this poem because it doesn’t rhyme.

Or a story.

There’s no characters.

No twist ending.

Maybe a rant.

But I feel the need to get something off my chest.

 

Everyone makes a big a*s deal about me.

That I’m adopted.

And the fact that I found my biological family.

They say that I “found a missing piece of me.”

I was never lost!

I was never missing a piece of me!

I was always me.

And I was always comfortable in that.

I had my family.

I had the best big brothers a girl could ask for.

And a little sister that had been through everything with me.

I had friends.

I had the perfect boyfriend.

I didn’t need another set of parents.

Or another set of siblings.

 

All my life media has told me,

“When you find your ‘real’ family it will be like finding your missing piece.”

Every movie

Tv show

Even book

That had an adopted child made it seem like this life changing moment.

Like if you didn’t find your biological family then you would never find yourself.

When I was little I thought maybe it would be like that.

Maybe I would feel complete.

But it wasn’t like that.

It’s been nothing but a s**t storm.

It’s been nothing but pain for me.

Now I’m just the girl who found her biological family.

I don’t even feel like myself anymore.

 

Everyone is always asking me,

“How does it feel to have finally found them?”

Well let me put that question to rest.

S****y.

I wish I had never found them.

I wish they were still a mystery to me.

I feel more lost now than I ever did in the past.

 

It was never a secret that I was adopted.

I used to wear it as a badge of honor.

I was different and unique. 

But now I don’t even wanna bring it up.

I don’t want people to notice.

I’ve never thought of my family of ‘not my family’.

But now it’s different.

I go out to lunch with my mama and they think I’m her friend.

And it’s just another reminder.

 

I want to go back to when I didn’t know these people.

I don’t know these people.

At all.

They aren’t my family.

And they never will be.

 

That's all I guess. 

© 2018 ToriSchrodi


Author's Note

ToriSchrodi
I only chose poem as the category cause I didn't know what else to call it. This isn't supposed to be a "poem" so please keep that in mind when reading.

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Reviews

I was impressed with what you wrote. That being said,tell me something; as an adoptee (is that a word?), would you have been upset if your adoptive parents had told you that, while most people who have a baby have to take whatever baby they get, you (as an adopted child) were chosen out of all the little girls in the world?
I am asking because I wrote a book, and one of the family's children was adopted as a newborn. This is something I had the parents say to her. If this is offensive to an adopted daughter, I want to know. I want to change it if that is the case.

Posted 6 Years Ago


ToriSchrodi

6 Years Ago

Personally I would not be offended. The whole "biological family" is a very touchy subject for a lot.. read more
hey, this is really sad, my sister is adopted, she's smart like you tho, the knows we're her family and this is where she belongs, I'm sorry this happened to you and I sincerely hope you find what you had before you met those people, who everyone's trying to convince you is your family, I understand missing ignorance

Posted 6 Years Ago


This comment has been deleted by the poster.
ToriSchrodi

6 Years Ago

I'm very lucky in the fact that it is not my family who feels this way. It is mostly friends and peo.. read more
Ghost writer

6 Years Ago

Yeah, I get it

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Added on September 21, 2018
Last Updated on September 21, 2018

Author

ToriSchrodi
ToriSchrodi

Dayton, OH



About
I am a amateur writer, and I hope to become a published writer before the end of my senior year. I dabble in poetry but I mostly write short stories and novels. more..

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