My name is the only thing I have left.
The only thing I have left of my family.
Even though they were 'sick in the head', as my social worker said.
Even though they were abusive.
Even though they didn't want me.
I still feel the need to be close to them
It's the only thing I have.

to be continued...

I've come to be obsessed with names.
My adopted mother's name was Georgia.
My adopted father's name was Chris.
My adopted sister's name was Lin.
But my name is Delilah Justice.

to be continued...

The family that adopted me was nice.
But they weren't my family.
They were loving, and wonderful, and they fed and clothed me.
But they weren't MY family.


to be continued...

My story is short.
About as short as you can get without being a newborn.
I was born, not wanted, and sent to a foster home.
And then I was adopted.
Short, I told you.
About as short as you can get.

...to be continued.

I actually do have a story.
But not a typical one.
I wasn't born in a charming little cottage in an adorable, fairytale forest. I wasn't raised by adoring parents, and I didn't grow up to a typical, normal job.
Like I said, I am Delilah Justice.

...to be continued.

I don't have a story. 

Everyone has a story, even if they don't know it.

But  everyone does. Except me.

My name is Delilah Justice.

...to be continued.