Sharon Marie Wright

I am a professional photographer specializing in dolls.  

I picked up a couple Emmy awards for writing/producing short format movies, been acknowledged for my acting and even got an attendance award at school once. 

I live in Los Angeles, migrated here from my hometown of Grandview, MO.  (Go Bulldogs) 

I love footed pajamas, Lifesaver Pep-O-Mints and stupid cat videos.  I have a pet pig and no, they do not stay small and you do not want one.

As far as my personal blog goes, everyone has had some sort of shit in their lives, I'm just documenting mine.  If you like it, great.  If not, I don't give a shit.

Live Fearlessly

Loss of Innocence

When you are young, you don't see people as different races, you don't see rich vs poor.  People aren't born evil, racist, hateful, abusive, etc.  They are taught that.  Children learn from those they are surrounded by.  Children trust their caregivers unconditionally.

They trust.  

Unconditionally.

Devious little shit, wasn't I?

The definition of trust, according to Merriam-Webster is the belief that someone or something is reliable, good, honest, effective, etc. 

I've always said I don't trust anyone, but really...if we go by the definition, I do trust some people - but never unconditionally.  I never have.  I've come close.  I trust Gary in as much as I've ever trusted anyone, maybe even a little more.  But I know, without a doubt that everyone will fuck you.  Every One.  I don't care who you are.  

That's not to say that I am always waiting for it - because I am a hard believer in the power of positive thinking.  Positive energy works miracles.  No bullshit.  

What you believe you can achieve. 

Trust is a hard thing.  I have faith and hope when it comes to people, not trust.

Christmas, obviously.  My new doll is up on the couch.  I loved her.

It's funny how certain things take you right back to a moment.  I recall I had this doll, she was tall, one of those walk-with-me types.  She wore the same size clothes as me basically.  So, that would put me at about 4 yrs old maybe.

I had this shorts set on.  It was white with these tiny little green flowers on it.  My doll could wear it too, though it was a little big on her.  It was my favorite.  

I remember being called into my mom's bedroom, I remember sitting on the edge of the bed.  I remember the sound of his zipper.  The shadows on the wall in the late afternoon sun.  I can still hear him tell me to be quiet.  To touch it.  To kiss it.  

She watched from a safe distance.  

My doll.  

She never told.

Neither did I.

It was a "cousin".  Everyone was somehow family but I never understood who came from where and how we were all connected.  His name was Willie, or Bill.  

Thankfully I didn't see him very often.  Thankfully it never happened again.  He was just the first.

One little fucked up footnote to this story.  When i was about 12, Willie came to visit.  He had married a Vietnamese woman and they were getting ready to have a baby.  They named her Sharon.  I swear to fucking God.  I wished so badly that I would have spoken up.  But, in the grand scheme of everything else at that point, it wouldn't have mattered.

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