Pisaries Creator

From the moment I was born, I knew,

I recognized my mother’s face and

my father’s toxicity pumped

through my veins, thicker than blood.

I tried to extract it and still something

triggered change from deep within,

and over time I grew accustomed

to pain in the dark.

From the moment I got closer, I knew,

I felt others would not believe,

the horrors of childhood happenings.

Children like me and parents like him

aren’t questioned by strangers; they can’t

see his exact pinpointing

to my heart: the cracks, fears, and doubts.

From the moment I thought was the end,

I knew, I heard the red bubble pop;

it bruised my arm more yellow,

and cut my leg deeper.

I forced the scars open after they healed,

believing I could change it

if I pushed on it hard enough; nothing came

out except fear of your aged face.

I sewed it closed with thick

string, dripped with guilt, putting you

back where you belong.