fabiochiu/medium-articles huggingface dataset:
Could this be a Verse?
Tags: Nightlife, Silence, Rhymes, A Cornered Gurl, Poetry

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

The last beer bottle trashed

Through the sound of a passing car

Drunk fists and faces smashed

Doors shut and closed the bar

Open window and flying ashes —

The half-burnt cigarette between the lips

Clinking spoon against the dishes —

The late-night dinner and coffee sips

The tapping of old fingers on the typewriter

With the last requested song

Strike one more time on the lighter

The night is young and still so long

The crowd is fading now

Taking the hanging coats to be warm

It is coming back somehow

The silence before the storm

It’s not here stay

But it will pass

Just waiting for another day

And another chaos.
mad woman
By: Alexa Thorn
Tags: Women, Self, A Cornered Gurl, Feminism, Poetry

mad woman

Photo by Can Şerefoğlu on Unsplash

rage giving rise,

a quiet creature

summoned in the flames

her vehement demise

fled for the bones,

the good-tempered child

mother’s milk raised —

all those beholden

to her gaze, stone-made

ruin in temple,

wicked she sings

the song of a thousand

women strong—

be not afraid,

to ignite.
Bruised
By: Lubna Yusuf
Tags: Haiku, Life, Love, A Cornered Gurl, Poetry

Learn more. Medium is an open platform where 170 million readers come to find insightful and dynamic thinking. Here, expert and undiscovered voices alike dive into the heart of any topic and bring new ideas to the surface. Learn more

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Penned red lines
By: Ruth Lazkoz
Tags: Heartwork, Relationships, Love, A Cornered Gurl, Poetry

Learn more. Medium is an open platform where 170 million readers come to find insightful and dynamic thinking. Here, expert and undiscovered voices alike dive into the heart of any topic and bring new ideas to the surface. Learn more

Make Medium yours. Follow the writers, publications, and topics that matter to you, and you’ll see them on your homepage and in your inbox. Explore
Heartless Lover
By: Gurpreet Dhariwal
Tags: Love More Hurt Less, Broken Heart, Heartless Bastards, A Cornered Gurl, Poetry

Learn more. Medium is an open platform where 170 million readers come to find insightful and dynamic thinking. Here, expert and undiscovered voices alike dive into the heart of any topic and bring new ideas to the surface. Learn more

Make Medium yours. Follow the writers, publications, and topics that matter to you, and you’ll see them on your homepage and in your inbox. Explore
Senseless
By: Lita Tiara
Tags: Numbers, Life, This Happened To Me, A Cornered Gurl, Poetry

— a poem of potpourris.

Senseless

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

I no longer recall

how those feelings felt

even when they rushed their knocks,

or when they’re filling to the brim.

I no longer recall

how to carve a smile

or to shed a tear —

as much as I want to heal.

Months after months, we’ve been at it

and within those changing moons

I keep losing bits by pieces.

I no longer remember how to feel.
Bitter Dearth
By: Aspen Blue
Tags: Hunger, Resentment, Need, A Cornered Gurl, Poetry

Stand before me grotesque and twisted forms

demand I sing of beauty

While my roots lay splayed their search for food

to find sick tastes of almond

Barren rock, scrabbled a land wasted, no fodder for a feast

I creep for sustenance

Entreating, please to let me sleep, I lie

to feed your needs

An empty scabbard rattling deserted by my words

no longer sharp to slice

My metallic life of avarice, malleable

trapped within your world

© Aspen Blue 2020
On The Spot
By: Lita Tiara
Tags: Haiku, Depression, Pressure, A Cornered Gurl, Poetry

— a haiku of potpourris.

On The Spot

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

All this weight on me

Suffocating as I go;

Heavy on my mind.

I feel it toying

Yet words can never explain

I just need to talk.
That Sadness
By: Priyanka Srivastava
Tags: Fall, Writing, A Cornered Gurl, Sadness, Poetry

That Sadness

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

“brighten the colours now

it’s October.”

Heart says.

“add that cinnamon

in the tea, count the drifting leaves

and wait for December.”

but the poems they still

write about that sadness.
Another Galaxy Away
By: Tim Shapiro
Tags: Death, Parenting, Fatherhood, Loss, Childhood

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Unsplash

My day begins with my father

who will die in one hour

“Do you want to go?”

I couldn’t just say “no.”

I had to hem and haw

like he might have once

with his father

who had a meeting at the bank

then, there I was running

outside with our neighbors

while my Dad fell

like a limb from a tree

five miles apart

another galaxy away
I found that speaking directly to a picture of myself as a child brings out in me the self…
By: Thomas P Seager
Tags: Trauma, Recovery, Complex Ptsd, Childhood, Inner Child

I found that speaking directly to a picture of myself as a child brings out in me the self compassion I previously lacked.

https://tpseager.medium.com/have-compassion-for-your-younger-self-3fe455cf8611
“What’s the big deal? It’s only 22 people running up and down a pitch?”
Tags: Sports, Love, Team, Obsessions, Childhood

For some, watching in TV turned into watching in real life. Seeing our heroes up close ratcheted our devotion to a new level; surely this was it, this was the pinnacle of life! The artistry we saw on the screen, mixed with a near gladiatorial athleticism catching our breath at kick-off, unable to tear our eyes from the scenes unfolding before us. And the crowds! Oh to bottle that feeling, that first feeling when you walk through the turnstile and see the pitch/court, with thousands of fans, their excitement palpable like your own. You felt it, this was bigger than yourself. The cheer at an outrageous bit of skill, the groan at conceding an ill-timed goal. Yes — this will stay with me forever.

This new companion followed you into school, where the ball featured just as frequently as the pen and paper. “Who’s your team?” carried almost as much weight as “what’s your name?” and you routinely broke world records of how quickly you could pack up your things and head to the playground once the bell dismissed you for lunch. Lunch? The scene of many epic battles, mostly free for alls, with the occasional year 5 vs year 6 sprinkled in if numbers were good and rivalries sufficiently stoked. For the lucky few, school brought with it the school team and with that, a more structured avenue to compete. Pulling on the strip, with a whole number to yourself, and the (sometimes) weekly opportunity to pit yourself against another school, with you every bit as professional and dedicated as the heroes you saw on TV. Nobody could tell you you weren’t in the NBA, the last minute shot in an U15s friendly match meaning just as much to you as MJ’s final shot in Utah. You were a new kind of gladiator, one with his/her friends in tow and keen to feel the buzz that at this stage, you knew deep-down would never rival that felt by your idols in the professional game. This realisation made you ever more committed — your love for this game now promised to stay as pure as it was the day you first stepped onto the pitch.

You then grew up. An adult, learning about and experiencing everything that life has to offer. But with the same trusty companion always at the back of your mind, ready to engulf you on a matchday when you watched your favourite team in action, by now the biggest institution in your life beyond (for some) family and faith. You didn’t get to play as much — but the stolen hour on a Saturday morning, or a Thursday evening after work threw you right back into that year 5 vs year 6 match — forgetting anything and everything but the need to get that result, that sweet taste of victory which by now, had overtaken your childlike need to experiment. You may even have had a child of your own at this stage — learning about the sport you love and as entranced as you remember yourself being. “You’re in for a treat” you think to yourself smilingly, all the while furiously contemplating how best to get their allegiance to your team before your spouse does.
Letter From Your Imagination
By: Isabelle Mae Adler
Tags: Growing Up, Childhood, Imagination

Dear Old Friend,

I wonder if you know I still watch you. I wonder if you know that I sit, curled in the corners and grooves of your mind. I wait, waxing and waning, for your attention. You with your hands and your soul, you are my sunrise. So how could you betray me? How could you neglect me? You and I used to be so close but as you grew bigger, you forced me to shrink and to hide in the dark of a moldy box far from sight. Its edges creaking and it’s wood splintering. So I ask, are you happy? Was the loss of my company worth it? Maturity. I used to hold your hand and run with you. I would wrap my arms around you and fill your lungs with air as you swam through your dreams. I was your closest confidant and you were my… my everything. If I had known that playing grown-up would lead to you one day leaving me to whither… I would still have done it. I would still have hugged your ideas and given them warm soil to grow from. I would still have built castles for you. I would still have twisted and bent like a gymnast to form a bridge between you and other children. Child. You were a child and my greatest architect. You took my malleable form and molded me into something great. I owe you for the time we had. I love you for the time we had. I miss the times we had. But now the sun has set on our great adventure. Perhaps the adventure ended a long time ago and I was too distracted to notice. Perhaps I was too busy trying to give you the stars to notice that night had fallen. I do not write to tell you of my anger at leaving the dragon unslain or the pirates’ treasure unfound. I write to tell you that I, like always, am here. I wait for the day that you remember that. I am so proud to have been your blueprint. And I pray to be called upon again. I will take you to the stars and laugh vibrantly alongside you as you rattle them. Remember my name, old friend, I will be here for you. I will wait in my box until you call on me to build a castle or better yet inspire you to build your own throne. I miss you and I am proud of you.

Write back soon, I always loved the stories that you told me.
Talk to the child you were.
By: Marino Baccarini
Tags: Parenting, Children, Education, Childhood, Child Abuse

Talk to the child you were.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

It is Christmas. Soon the new year will come. Many make good resolutions that few will keep because they all require effort and hard and constant work that can last a long time. Yet that’s the only job a human being should really focus on.

If you want to find some inner serenity and welcome life for what it is, why don’t you try to make things right with someone you haven’t talked to for many years?

Talk to the child you were.

Tell him you’re the adult he needed.

Talk to the child you were.

Tell him that when you grow up you will find the joy and serenity that he dreamed of.

Tell him that you have chosen to make his dreams come true and become the balanced, aware, sweet and compassionate adult he was looking for in the adults around him.

Tell him that one day all the pain he has experienced will find an answer and that life will take a great turn. Everything will be clear and he will find answers, starting with the negative experiences he has lived through.

Talk to the child you were.

Tell him that from now on you will be the adult he dreamed of becoming and he will find the joy and serenity he has desperately sought after.

Tell him that the adult he has become is good, loving towards himself and towards others. Tell him that when he grew up he learned to recognize his emotions and to choose thoughts and words so as not to hurt anyone starting with himself.

Talk to the baby inside you, tell him that you love him and that you will take care of him.

Tell him how you learned the things that as a child you have been forced to believe you could never do.

Tell him that you have become good at your job and that you can do everything that they have convinced you that only others could do because you were not good enough or smart enough or brave enough.

Here, tell him that today you are the intelligent, capable, good adult and that you can do many things.

Talk to the child you were and hold him in your arms until he feels the warmth and affection he always dreamed of.

Loving the child within.

“Most of us have ignored our inner child for far too long.

It doesn’t matter how old you are, there is a little child within you who needs love and acceptance. If you’re a woman, no matter how self-reliant you are, you have a little girl who’s very tender and needs help; and if you are a man, no matter how macho you are, you still have a little boy inside of you who craves warmth and affection.

Every age that you have been, is within you — within your consciousness and memory. As children, when something went wrong, you tended to believe that there was something wrong with you. Children develop the idea that if they could only do it right, then parents or whoever would love them, and they wouldn’t beat them or punish them.” (Louise L. Hay)

If my words really struck a chord, please keep on reading “The power within you” by Louise L. Hay.

It’s been beneficial to me in a way I cannot express. Perhaps it can help you, too.
December 24th, 2020 — Christmas Eve
By: Notes A Solitary Corner
Tags: 2020, Childhood, Joy, Christmas

Dear S,

This is my favorite day of the year. I know you love Christmas, but for me, the holiday to look forward to is Christmas Eve. More than Christmas Day, more than my birthday, more than Thanksgiving or the end of the school year, or any other day you might choose. In my family, this was the day of choirs and carols, grand dinners and unwrapping presents, pretty dresses and cozy pajamas. Candlelight and angel light and starlight. It was the magical place of childhood dreams. And as the evening draws to a close, I am surprised to find that even in 2020, this has been a particularly joyful day.

It shouldn’t have been. This has been the year where nothing is as it is supposed to be. There was no Christmas tree, just a Christmas Chair in the corner of the living room where I piled the boxes and bags sent by my parents and siblings. The Amazon box was the gift wrap of 2020 — I didn’t even bother to put wrapping paper on the outside. The weather was drab gray and pouring rain. Dinner was a recipe from a food delivery service that I threw together. I didn’t even think about dessert until I went to the grocery store this morning for toilet paper, so I ended up with sub-par mint ice cream. My decorations in my house consist of a few small fake poinsettias, a tabletop tree decoration that is more trunk than tree, and a berry wreath on the door with fairy lights (the only thing that is both charming and festive).

And yet. There was something beautiful about today. Yesterday was the end of the term, and thus a weight of obligations that finally came to conclusion. I woke up this morning with the lightness of freedom and that small excitement in my heart, the sense that something long-expected had arrived, even though I wasn’t prepared for it. In the cold rain, the house was cozy. The food was a comfort. My family, together on the screen of my iPad despite the physical span of four time zones, was as hilarious and warm and familiar as they always are. Stripped of expectations, today was perhaps one of the best Christmas Eves I have had in years.

Some might say it is because this year has been so dreadful that even the pale shadow of Christmas seems comparatively glorious. But that is too simple to me. Rather, I feel as if I brought intention to this day. I was deliberate in my joy, determined to embrace this moment and place myself within it. Stripped of what it was expected to be, it became what it was. Face to face with its reality, I found wonder.

Now I am tucked in a corner writing to you before I crawl into bed. It is already Christmas Day where you are, and in my mind, I imagine you sitting down to dinner with your family, laughing in that wide and deep way that makes me smile, enjoying a feast that I am almost certain your mother prepared. I hope you have found the same wonder and warmth in a holiday I know you love as much as I do. I hope you have found the time to embrace this moment and to place yourself within it, as fleeting as it is.

Merry Christmas, my dear friend.

Yours,

A
The Complete Guide: Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn.PDF
Tags: New Born Baby, Pregnancy, Childhood

Wish I would have purchased this at start of pregnancy. This book is awesome! It is packed with information about pregnancy, childbirth, and caring for your newborn (exactly as the title implies). I really love how much detail this book goes into regarding the labor and delivery process. I would say this book would be especially beneficial for any woman hoping to have a NATURAL childbirth. It goes into great detail about coping techniques etc during the labor process. That being said, if you are planning to get an epidural or even know you will need a c-section, this book would still be extremely informative (mainly for a first time mom-although I’m not saying the info is super basic). The book is full of very detailed info. However, unlike some books that cover such technical info, it does not read like a boring textbook. It also does not read like a goofy “humorous” book where the author is trying to funny in every sentence. e read this book AND ‘What to Expect when You’re Expecting’ during our first pregnancy and we would definitely recommend to read them both for new parents. Although, some of the information is repetitive, it is nice to get a different perspective of the same topic. We found that both books were easy to follow along with, were categorized in an organized manner as far as chapters & flow go, and both books were knowledgeable and helped us through the pregnancy for first time parents. The pictures and tips for fathers were also clear and helpful. Overall would definitely recommend this and will be passing along this book to my fellow pregnant friends in the future!. I love that the authors made it very easy to read and not boring but didn’t try to be hilarious (which usually ends up being annoying instead of funny). As far as the Newborn section-I am finding it to be very helpful and informative just as the rest of the book has been. If you only go with one Pregnancy/Childbirth book-this is the one I would invest in. (And I had about 9 between the ones I bought and ones that were given to me).

Files.B079L64ZT8.PDF: http://bit.ly/2DBO1Un
I used to love doing this, when I was small.
By: Khayah Brookes
Tags: Playfulness, Love, Secure Attachment, Childhood, Trauma Response

I used to love doing this, when I was small. My mom and uncle would hold me like that between them, as we walked, or one of them would hold me on their own. I sort of wish I could still do that now… but I am over 30.

I think you might like to know the difference between “paranoia” and “vigilance.” Paranoia is an unreasonable suspicion of other people, or presumption of dishonest or harmful motivations. Vigilance, on the other hand, is the well-warranted watchfulness that comes from accurately determining a situation to be hazardous.

I think you were being appropriately vigilant after your encounter with paranoid, menacing people.

Keep playing with your daughter in ways that make her feel safe and free. Don’t let haters get you down. ❤
On parents’ task
Tags: Pessimism, Sociology, Childhood, Parenting

On parents’ task

But a young mind tends to dismiss this thought and might rather be consoled by simple yet memorable things before the chaos of this world dawns unto him or her — we are fated this way. Krister Dec 24, 2020·1 min read

Photo by Yannic Kreß on Unsplash

Parents are compelled to the task of introducing a horrible world to their children by making them aware of the general phenomenon that plagues grown-ups first and learn the implications of how an adult should behave and maintain composure despite the abundance of anxiety there may be. This way, the idea of a perfect, desirable world won’t fool anyone and the hope of developing a healthy pessimism and maturity is realized without corrupting the glory of childhood. This is never anti-thesis. This is simply an introduction to a discipline called Sociology. But a young mind tends to dismiss this thought and might rather be consoled by simple yet memorable things before the chaos of this world dawns unto him or her — we are fated this way. Either it’s a curse or whatnot. And the only cure is endurance, grit, and wisdom or rather, the virtues.
Wait for It
By: Gaston King
Tags: Brainstorming, Writers Block, Waiting, Challenge, Childhood

Wait for It

Photo by Varun Gaba on Unsplash

Cautiously filling the mind with unexpected hopefulness.

We search, we hope and we wait for something bigger than ourselves to appear.

Gradually expressing the freedom of our minds to push something through the grinder in hopes of spewing out captivating diction.

Sculpting and crafting the substance into something noteworthy and cook-able.

We sit at our computers, our typewriters, and inconsequential phrases surface.

Dancing along the keys as if playing childhood songs on the piano.

Crushing our fingers on the keys in hopes of some unfound talent.

*twinkle twinkle*

Missing the primary focus of why we sit and mutter such rambunctious phrases.

The want for pauses lapses, we desire death defying depth to please ourselves.

We wish to write symphonies, utilizing letters to dangle over our consciousness and gain something we lost. We close our eyes, dreaming of the luminescent luxury of fulfillment.

Craving that slight grin of pride when we’ve collected enough data to reveal a story.

One that will ask for the reader’s hand and invite them down the steady rabbit hole.

Patience outlasts anticipation as a story begins to bloom.

The digging has stopped as we begin to put away childlike banter.

The child is gone, but the past shines on the brighter side. We remember the ease of wonderment that youth placed in our hearts.

*twinkle twinkle little*

We so desperately longed-for wisdom that came with age.

But we didn’t take loss into effect.

Our mind wandering adrift, losing the only path we once recalled,

All for the brief reminder that feeling limitless is endless.

*twinkle twinkle little star*

We hear our younger selves singing and standing but five feet away.

Hesitantly walking towards us with slow flat steps attempting not to fall.

They arrive standing in front of us, dissecting the imperfections we’ve accrued over the years.

We awkwardly look away and feel their gaze begin to grow as they left their arms up to us.

We look down reminiscing, as we reach down to lift our respected creative side.

They sit, exploring our face and smiling with each moment passed.

They look over to see what were conforming, and start clasping their fingers together.

We place them on our laps, we grip the grilling keyboard as they place their hands on ours.

Blistering bolts strike precise points allowing the lightening to course from our being into our writing.

And all we had to do, was wait for it.

© Gaston King, all rights reserved.
Mom, why can’t I pet my unicorn?
By: Vixen Lea
Tags: Parenting, Magic, Unicorns, Childhood, Prose Poem

Mom, why can’t I pet my unicorn?

There comes a time in every young girl’s life when she starts to wonder why she can’t pet her imaginary unicorn.

A time when the magic that seemed so real in her mind begins to disintegrate once its hooves touch down on the dingy gravel of the real world.

The longer she lives among the humdrum humans, the more the uncertainty builds around her, piling up in blank and hollow mountains of “Seeing is Believing;” and the harder it becomes for her to catch sight of the magical friend she brought with her from the other side of the veil.

It takes longer and longer to call it forth from its kingdom of dreams, and a sparkle fades from her eye each time it fails to come.

She has to squint through the amorphous gray to even glimpse its luminous flickering in the Beyond.

She has to fight through dismissive thoughts of logic and reason to remember it is out there waiting for her.

Yet every day her determination valiantly battles that swelling doubt.

She furrows her brow and reaches down, grasping at the empty space at her side. She Knows it is there (she can Feel it — her golden winged unicorn), but still she struggles to touch its silky mane in her fingers, struggles to stroke its satiny fur under her open palm.

Her pleading eyes lift and she searches my face, questioning the duality of her imagination:

“Momma, I know she’s there; but when she whinnies, I know it’s me making the sound.”

Wanting validation, she waits for my response:

a confirmation -

that magic can be both true and imagined at the same time;

that the force of our belief can indeed bring forth a gilded horned creature from the ether;

that possibility is not dependent on the tangibility of what we can see;

that everything we dream up can be brought to life if only we believe hard enough.
Day 2: Childhood Christmas Memories
By: Aditi Sarawagi
Tags: Christmas, 100DayChallenge, Childhood, Nostalgia, Writing

Day 2: Childhood Christmas Memories

Last night as I set up my Christmas tree with holiday jingles playing in the background, I was hit by a sense of nostalgia(along with several dust mites) with past years’ Christmas decorations and how every year without fail I put up a tree or some sort of festive decor keeping up with the Yuletide spirit. I remembered leaving the window slightly open for Santa to come in, lighting candles at the window; reading Christmas stories at bedtime, and waking up to presents by my pillow(placed by my sister till I was 18, no kidding). Of course I knew it was her and that Santa wasn’t visiting me from the North Pole but the excitement had been consistent every year without fail.

Even as I moved houses and became an adult with all its drama, Christmas and the pine trees(fake ones) have been constant in my life and every year without fail remind me of how far I’ve come with each tree and each decor symbolising that moment or that phase in my life, marking milestones(or not). From minuscule handmade trees and Coke can Santa’s, to making trees with books, elaborate theme based trees, to tiny ones on my window sill, or the hurried ten minutes one before midnight-each tree has a story to tell of a time in my life-laughing with cousins with my makeshift nativity-scene-in-a-cot, crying under the starry lights of my life sized tree, or celebrating Christmas smack in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Growing up Hindu in a convent school, I never knew that Christmas holidays will be the one I’ll cherish the most but the spirit behind all the hymns and carols sung at morning assembly did rub off on me after all. Happy Holidays!
Mother and Cake
By: Vivian Sadora
Tags: Abusive Mother, Sweet Sixteen, Mothers And Daughters, Childhood, Abusive Parents

Last year,

sixteenth birthday.

On the floor, face covered in blood, boogers on my top lip.

Gross.

“please mom, stop.”

My thoughts.

How will she get these red stains off the carpet?

She pulled my hair.

Screams.

I’d seen a bald girl once. When I asked her why, she responded with silence. Maybe this is why. Smart girl. Gorgeous like a Miss Universe.

Fists and foot flying my direction; still on the floor.

I got scared.

Anger. Not towards mother. Not towards God. Not towards anything in particular.

I need a car. Or somewhere else to live.

Ouch, my stomach.

I have marks on my neck, arms, and tummy — navy blue or dark blue, a little black too.

I don’t have money for a concealer.

Nowhere to go.

Sad. Scared. Sweet sixteen. So hungry.

Maybe I should have chewed that booger earlier.

Her spit. It went inside my mouth. Tastes just like saliva.

I’m going to be okay…

Right?

I wish I had a boyfriend. They buy you food, I’ve heard.

Anyways,

good news,

this year,

I got myself a birthday cake,

Tres Leche.

Happy seventeenth birthday to me.

My beautiful mother.

Pen name, of course.
What Are the Different Types of Child Custody Available to Parents?
By: Pattin Namikaze
Tags: Family, Children, Parenting, Childhood

Sharing children is a common event for parents that are no longer married, but choosing the right plan for sharing your kids is not always easy.

Are you and your former spouse trying to determine how to handle sharing your kids? If so, you might benefit by learning more about the types of child custody you can choose from.

There are just a few terms you’ll need to know as you begin deciding how to handle this decision.

Here is a guide that will help you understand the primary options for child custody arrangements.

Joint vs. Sole Custody

You can break the subject of child custody down to two main choices. The first choice is between joint custody and sole custody.

Joint custody is an arrangement where the parents share the children in terms of where they live. A couple with joint custody will both have the children stay with them regularly.

Joint custody is an option that works well when:

The parents live near each other

The kids spend a lot of time with both parents

Both parents are highly involved with the children

Sole custody refers to when the kids are primarily with just one parent. The parent who has the children most of the time has full rights to them. The kids stay with this parent most of the time, and this parent makes the decisions for them.

Parents have rights, so you may want to learn more about your parental rights before choosing one route or the other.

Physical Custody vs. Legal Custody

The next primary part of child custody options is learning the difference between physical custody and legal custody.

Physical custody is a legal term that refers to who the children live with. You can have a situation where you both have physical custody of the kids. Courts call this joint physical custody.

You can also have a situation when just one parent has physical custody, and courts generally refer to this as sole physical custody.

Legal custody is the last term to understand. A parent with legal custody has the right to make decisions for the child. You can choose from one of two options with legal custody:

Joint legal custody — If you both want to have the right to make legal decisions, you should aim for this option. Sole legal custody — If only one of you should have the right to make legal decisions, you should go after sole legal custody.

If you and your spouse are experiencing challenges trying to decide which way to go, contact Hague Law Offices, PLLC to speak to a lawyer about your situation. and for every who want to make their video visible by captions or transcribe service click here
Andy Kaufmann Up until I was about six years-old, and figured out I wasn’t crazy for not liking it, my father and I would wrestle. We’d play on his bed, and all was fine and dandy, but it usually…
By: Casanova Frankenstein
Tags: Poem, Dysfunctional Family, Abuse, Childhood, Poetry

Andy Kaufmann



Up until I was about six years-old, and

figured out I wasn’t crazy for not liking

it, my father

and I would wrestle.

We’d play on his

bed, and all

was fine and

dandy, but

it usually ended

with him

putting a pillow

over

my face and

pinning me down

so that I was

unable to

move or breathe.

And I would

scream and

panic and lose

breath from

screaming and

struggling, and would

be waiting

to die.

Then he’d pull the

pillow

away, laughing. But

seeing that I was

crying, would

get angry and

say, "I was just

playin' with you. You knew I wouldn’t hurt

you!"



Then he’d chase me away disgusted.

I’d wander away feeling

confused.

Upset at myself for

being scared. For making

him so upset by

not getting the

joke.



-Austin, TX 2014
a unibrow and a dream
Tags: Life, Childhood, Love, Poetry

I won’t say I was a happy child

Because that would be a lie

And I pour my heart out here for a chance to survive

So here’s how the story goes

There was once a girl

With a unibrow and a dream

She was always angry

Hated everybody

But she had hope in her eyes and a fresh face full of dreams

Now the dark circles under her eyes tell you stories so unholy

Stories she sometimes let slip as a joke

Like when she says “oh well, I’ll die early anyways.” when her friends complain that she drinks too much diet coke

Or when she replies with “maybe because my father never loved me” when the boy she likes says “you are too emotional!”
Losing & Finding your Soul
By: Sundy Gilchrist
Tags: Finding Yourself, Childhood, Soul, Personal Growth

Losing & Finding your Soul

Remember when you were little and you kind of had a sense of who you were, what you liked, and even why you were here on the planet?

I was lucky… (or did I choose my life and family)… lucky enough to have enough freedom/neglect for me to live in this childlike realm… at least until school…

It soon became clear that my ‘natural way of being’ was not approved of, and I soon learned to conform (sit down and shut up, in the main…) so I learned to minimize the risk of my name being in the top right hand corner of the blackboard… a place reserved for the ‘naughty’ ones and which meant you were denied the ‘Friday Sweet Treat’…

I missed out so many times watching jelly tots sitting in the groove of my school mates old fashioned desks… you know, those wooden ones with ink wells, lids, and a groove along the top for your pen…?

So it starts… the rules to obey by… and with sanctions and punishment (exclusion really) if I didn’t ‘behave.’

Soon I forgot to remember who I was and followed the ‘trail of supposed success.’

Who was I to think I was anything different, special, unique, or with a special ingredient to bring into life’s rich tapestry?

And even if I did, it seemed I, it, was soon squashed…

It takes its toll on us.

I got ill, mentally… some of us get physically ill…

It’s confusing too.

Like being in a cage… the door is open… and yet…

So I hunkered down and took the pills… learned to enjoy the ‘opportunities’ available to me and closed the door to the rest… and learned to manipulate to get my wants and needs met… bit of rebelling in the form of deliberate disruption and sabotage too!

I got brave and broke a few ‘traditions’ along the way…

Went to uni as a mature student… got a job outside of a family business… got divorced… all very different to my family theme… and, yet, still it was in the sort of ‘acceptable’ realms, even if it was people other than my family who were doing the ‘accepting’…

I’m glad I have a Soul who knows a fair bit… been round the block a few times she has…

Seems we have merged again… back, and into, some sort of understanding of why I am here…

I can buy my own sweets on Fridays now too! Ha!
Bi-Alienation
By: Kalia Cee
Tags: Issues, Conflict, Childhood, Parents, Poetry

“When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.” -Richard Kadrey.

I never thought my house was burning.

I did inhale a lot of smoke, but it never occurred to me that my home was actually on fire.

Maybe the smoke came from the neighbours, but not from here.

When I started to have two houses, surprisingly, the smoke situation got worse.

Until today it keeps growing and growing.

No fire, just smoke.

The flames are in their eyes or heart.

Discreet but not harmless.

I don’t recall seeing my burns.

Maybe they happen when I should've been sleeping.

Maybe I caused them after all. Maybe it’s my fault.

No, it’s not.

I know it.

Will and Sean told me.

My story is a whole different one, but a burning house is still a burning house.

In everything, I eat there’s an aftertaste of ashes.

In everything I see, there’s always a hidden flame.

So I urge to found myself in books as if ‘’451 Fahrenheit’’ was going to hit the city.

It’s an illusion

right?

Maybe I should’ve finished this book after all.
Lack of Love or Wrong Love?
By: Hansel Yapadi
Tags: Abuse, Childhood, Psychology, Love

The general belief was that people who lacked of love in early childhood are hungry for it in their adulthood. But is is true? Is it that we lacked of love or rather we learned the wrong kind of love?

Photo by Jackson Simmer on Unsplash

To understand ‘lack’, first we must see what it looks like to ‘have’ enough love. It turns out that you could never had enough, for love can’t be quantified. It is not about the number of loving strokes that hits you. So what is it?

Now let’s revisit the other one. Wrong kind of love. The same here we must dealt with the invert: what does the right kind of love looks like? Well, again you can’t defined it unless you resort to generality. You can’t defined right and quantified enough love. But we could come up with some answer that might not logically make sense, but hold some truth in it “Love is the absence of concept.” Like a small child who have yet to learned right & wrong, he is just is. He might be naughty and caused trouble but we never felt wrong intent from him, just love.

Okay, so now we talk about wrong love. I give the spoiler in front “Wrong love is the kind that seek for it.” The story might be different for everyone, but usually it goes like these

A caregiver (usually but not always parents) tried to manipulate the child to do what he/she wanted. He do so by instigating that for the child to have value, he must seek validation from the caregiver. If the child do what the caregiver wanted, he was given a validation and thus feel loved. But else — in the absence of anything particular — he felt empty and unvalidated.

See, the contrast is stark. One is a love like small child that is free without intent. The other is hungry that never satified unless something happened. Everyone talked about love, but it turns out everyone has a different kind of love.

Now we know that, we wanted to have right love thus avoid the wrong love. But then there is instigation here: you cannot have right love. You cannot earned it, you could only give it away. And usually for people who craved -and been so long- this strikes as conflicting. Wanting something that cannot be gotten.

To say to not-seek would be a conflicting statement. For trying to not-seek is a seek in itself. That’s why I am in favor of the term “having no concept” for when you don’t have concept, you are not seeking anything. You still do things in the presence or immediate future, but not as much looking to possessed anything or anyone.
Piu: The pigeon in my environment
By: Vianca P
Tags: Environment, Trees, Nature, Childhood, Birds

I want to share a unique experience:

I met a pigeon on my balcony and I named it Piu. I love it. We play together. It sings for me. We enjoy very much and it helps to give messages. One time I was in Maths tuition; I wrote messages in a piece of paper. I gave it to Piu to deliver it to Granny. She confirmed she received it. I was shocked to know about it.

I hope you enjoyed reading my story.

Thank you,

Vianca
Reform or Revolution
By: Mairead Ajisola
Tags: Healing, Family Trauma, Memories, Mental Health, Childhood

Reform or Revolution

How do we rebuild — or do we tear it all down?

August 18, 2019

My mother taught me and my sister about revolution during Christmastime when she had a tantrum while erecting an enormous tree in the living room. That year, fuming and cussing and pink from the try, she hurled the evergreen monster down the back steps from our second floor apartment.

Tinsel floating in the air, thin luminescent bulbs releasing from parched branches, a glittery bomb scene bursting onto the stairs, whipping against the banister and dumped in a heap onto the porch.

Small disbelieving eyes around door frames, we stared moon-faced at the explosion. Mum just hoisted our Christmas into the air in slow motion. The rage at the “too big” tree who failed it’s holiday duties silenced the rest of the house as my mum continued to sputter.

Seems we’d just spent “good money” to fluff an illusion of piety from a distant childhood I wasn’t present for and it sailed into the night air with crackling pursed lips and crashed to the floor as proof that was all gone. Seemingly, in stop animation, Christmas went down the second floor back steps in a napalm burst of words I wasn’t allowed to say and sleeping in an angel cloud of shaken needles.

Our Christmas was a bust.

Our “too big” tree, a blue fur or some such species, lay at the bottom of the stairs in an unforgivable heap of pity. I peaked from the second-floor landing down the steps like I was seeing a secret terror that had attacked my mum — catching her off guard, unaware and that tree got GOT by mummy’s “don’t fuck with me” hands. Or was I seeing something seething in my mother? Like when she walloped me… was I witnessing something else?

She was off to bed to pinch her lips together cursing some more, muttering about how I need to “cooperate around the house” and “help meeeeeeee”.

The last part trailed off into the revolution of tears stored up and used against my absent father, her asshole brothers or whichever next not-nearly enough dude who gave ultimatums, left us on the side of the road after midnight or made sure she remembered she was a single woman alone with two growing children who weren’t “his fucking problem.”

Mum taught me revolution that night.

You just toss it down the stairs and wait until morning to “get a little help around here with this mess!”
The Tango by F Lee Miller
By: Backhand Stories
Tags: Creative Writing, Flash Fiction, Fiction, Childhood

We danced the Tango on newly-cut grass and across the white-gravel driveway, hopping more than gliding, stumbling and trying not to hurt each other. I was eight years old and she was my best friend.

There was no music, of course, except what we always heard in each other’s company; the music of friendship. I held the dandelion in my teeth — she wouldn’t even try. She shuffled and hopped over my feet, her skinny legs trying desperately to keep up. We fumbled through the mechanics of the dance; she with one arm out stiff with mine, the other draped over my shoulder; my hand pressing into her lower back and pulling her along. My mother watched us from the kitchen window and declared us a sight.



That was the year I finally grew taller than her. That was the year I could finally hold my own in a race against her, or maybe that was when she started letting me win. It was the year I finally beat her wrestling.

As we danced, she tried to kiss me, awkward and silly, but with a huge, honest smile on her face.She was always trying to kiss me, and it always made me giggle. I turned my face from side to side, joyfully avoiding her kisses, until she tripped over my feet and we tumbled to the cool grass. I sprawled, laughing, and she stood over me on all fours, kissing me right on the lips and wagging her tail in delight.
My Grandmother and Her Paper Cranes
Tags: Japan, Childhood, Family, Family History, Culture

Throughout the years, I became fluent at folding paper cranes. I’d mindlessly pick a piece of paper and start folding one out of boredom. It became almost like therapy for me. Inhale, exhale, one fold at a time.

One day, Oma told me that her ikebana students alongside herself were going to fold 1,000 paper cranes for an art exhibition held by the Japan Foundation in Jakarta. Back then, I was oblivious of its significance. I thought, Wow 1,000 for real? There’s no way they are going to count it one by one. But the next day, we started folding 10, 50, 90… paper cranes until my bedroom became a pool of folded coloured papers. I was completely distracted by the number of paper cranes we needed to fold that I may have missed it when oma told us the story behind the 1,000 paper cranes. All I knew growing up was that the paper crane was something good. Like, very good. It-can-make-someone’s-day good. Or, even, it-can-bring-the-world-together good. I remember getting in trouble with my parents, and my response as a child was to fold a paper crane to apologise. At school, I’ve also tried making tiny paper cranes and left it in random places. I thought if someone would find it, it’ll make their day for sure.

Oma eventually passed away in 2018. It was pretty sudden, but we were ready at that point. Many of her students throughout the years came and brought flowers, but they also brought a huge box filled with paper cranes. We ended up placing some next to her during the funeral. It was a bittersweet moment. I felt so much peace and pain that day.

This was more than two years ago, and I never thought I’d lose another grandmother this early in life.
At what age should you talk to your child about the birds and the bees?
By: Abraar Wahab
Tags: Childhood, Birds And Bees, Child Abuse

“There is more risk with not talking them enough than talking them too much” -Cory Silverberg

How to have the talk with my daughter?

When should you have the talk with your child?

At what age should you talk to your child about the birds and the bees?

When should I have the big talk?

Just a few of the many questions that can be daunting for you to talk with your child. Talking about sex and puberty with your child is definitely not the easiest and is even worse not knowing, how much of it should you be talking.

Most parents do the talk when their child is 8–9 years of age. Once after the child hits puberty, it is more likely for them to have plenty of questions. With the changes happening to their body it is quite obvious they will learn about puberty and sex from their peers if not from their parents.

But, here are some valuable insights At what age should you talk to your child about the birds and the bees

0–3 Years Age

Renowned sex educator Silverberg explains the importance of talking about sex should start before children are verbal. Emphasizing that parents should adopt to incorporate the proper names for genitals like; Penis, valve, vagina clitoris bum and nipples than calling them by fancy names.

In fact, the AAP (American academy of paediatrics) explains that the use of the proper words to the genitals allows children to communicate health and injuries. Including any sexual abuse, a child could experience.

It is quite normal for kids to be touching their genitals at this age and even baby boys to have frequent erections. It is important you explain them with the right names and teach your child which parts of the body is private and it’s not okay to touch them in the public.

4–6 Years Age

During the preschool years, children are curious to know more about the gender especially the opposite gender as they try to compare their body with their peers. They might touch each other’s genitals while kissing, hugging and playing doctor with their peers, which is very normal and they are not adult sexual activities.

According to AAP and most sex educators, it is the ideal entry point to calmly explain and educate children, that touching others in their private parts is not appropriate. With the rise of sexual predators on young children, explaining them no other person including friends and relatives may touch their genitals.

7–9 years of age….

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An Archaeology of Self
By: Sherryl Clark
Tags: Imagery, Poem, Reminiscence, Childhood, Poetry

I hold the square glass butter dish

discovered like buried treasure in the cabinet

and my dormant child grins in recognition.

She’d remembered long before I did,

traced the sloping roofline while

I talked of atmosphere and the intangible.

In this house I am home again,

inside the familiar contradictions of

rotting walls and solid love.

There have been too many long years

of learning to be an adult,

reining in dreams, dismissing

the excitement of surprise.

I’d thought I was in training

to grow real, adding each day

like another building block.

I listen to the thrum of rain

on the iron roof, place more buckets

to catch the leaks, and settle

on these firm foundations.