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.