Bastard

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There was once a time when I hadn't learned,

I hadn't yet learned the reason I looked different.

Different from my family.

A black sheep, believing I belonged for years.

Until the beans had been spilled and my eyes had been opened.

I was different. Different from my brothers and sisters.

I'm a bastard.

The word hurts sometimes, but not always. Why?

Because I am strong. I am not defined by a word.

I am not defined by the actions of my parents.

A bastard? Good. I'll be a bastard forever, so why would I care?

Why would I care to change who I am? To appease society?

But there had always been a fear. A fear deep inside of me.

Does my sister hate me? For not being her sister?

A fear that gripped at my heart.

Nights spent crying until I slept from exhauation.

Days of observing.

Weeks of avoiding.

Years of wondering.

And the answer came in one moment. With one simple statement.

"I love you."

Because those words hadn't been shared between us yet.

And when they were finally said without preamble,

Everything changed.

Those nights and days and weeks and years of worry seemed pointless.

They were pointless.

Hate me? Because I'm different? Idiotic thought, looking back.

I'm a bastard.

That word does not define who I am. That word does not shape me as a human being.

That word does not mean that I am unworthy of being loved.

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