allthatjazz 𐙚˙✧˖♡

  Daddy Issues, The Scar It Leaves My sixteenth birthday was four months away when I met him for the first time. I was fifteen, a sophomore. Fifteen years my father was absent. Fifteen years I had waited for his explanation, waited to be seen, just for him to have moved on without me. I was apprehensive at first, weary of his intentions. Why’d he suddenly decide to come back? To reconcile?            But after a few promises and compliments, I caved in without question. He swore he’d help with my college tuition, pay for my upcoming birthday party, and even talked about attending my graduation. It took twenty-four hours for me to start calling him dad. A week to forget about the past. And it took barely a month for it all to come undone. What started innocently: daily texts, FaceTime calls, and checkups throughout the day – soon turned into messages left on read and missed phone calls.            Three months, th...

  Jazz, Like The Music My mother did not choose my name, she never thought of a girl’s name because a girl wasn’t what she wished for. My mothers first child, my half-brother, gave me the title, Jazmine. I find irony in my birth name, someone who is so vindictive and cruel chose a blossoming, spring name for me. In its original language, Spanish, it means flower or youthful. A fitting name for a baby born in the budding-spring season. But as I’ve grown, It’s no longer a fitting name for me.  Now , I go by Jazz, I feel that’s my true name. It makes me think of a saxophone, flashy and booming. At home nobody calls me it, but in the world, that’s the real me. At school it’s easy for people to remember and differentiates me from others. There's dozens of Jazmines on campus, but only one Jazz. In English class sophomore year, I introduced myself to my shoulder partner. I told her my name was Jazz, her face lit up. She said “Wow, like the music?”. It was the first time I introduced ...