I tell people my mom was a young druggie, 

who got date raped but was too much of a tree hugger to abort me.

I tell them she died because of an overdose, 

and we were never really close.

I tell them I did not cry 

when I was taken from my shabby apartment life, 

and moved from foster home to foster home.

I tell them I never felt any pain, or alone.

And everyone believes it, because of my name.


That rotten egg smell that seeps into water 

and makes it undrinkable.

What kind of a mother would wish that name upon their daughter?

Sometimes, the only way to protect the truth, is by lies.

My mother was a beautiful woman, 

who met a beautiful man, 

who's family would have murdered them both 

if they knew about the love they had.

When she got pregnant, 

she ran, to protect both her lover outside,

and me, the child growing inside.

When I was born, she named me Sulphur,

not because it is an acid that burns,

but because she wanted to show from mistakes she could learn,

because she wanted me to have the shield, to have someone to blame

if anyone ever made fun of me for own her  shame.

She killed herself when I was seven.

suffering from a deep depression,

yet I know she's better off in heave.

And so like she requested I curse both our names,

but it's funny how after all these years,

no one ever questioned why I didn't have my own changed.

The End

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