I am angry because you’ve hurt them
I am distraught because the little boy loves you so much despite the countless times you’ve hit him. He cannot see how two-faced you are because he is blinded by love and faded memories.
I am in pain because every time I think we’ve healed you somehow weasel your way back in.
They say accept the hand you are dealt but God was our dealer and he’s dealt us some shitty cards
and now we are stuck with an abusive ace, a queen who is blind to her kings wrong-doings, and 3 battered children trying to take shelter in the storm.
we're stuck in this rut
and have been here for the last 10 hands
we are surrounded by a whirlwind of
self-hatred and depression
doctors appointments and pills
unwashed dishes and bills
pain and unwanted tears
My brother doesn't want to live anymore
he can't stand this pain, this agony of not seeing his father
the perfect person that he’s idolized all of his life
but he doesn't know that this idol is cracked
is rusted from his own self-destruction
this idol is like a disease
he gets into your skin and infects your blood
and he seeps into your heart to tear a bit here and wreck a bit there
he creeps into your brain and throws everything around like a child throwing a tantrum until you don’t know which way is up and which way is down.
i don't know up from down or left from right but i do know he hurt me.
he left me with black and blue bruises on my skin and my soul.
bruises heal over time but to the little boy that idolized him
the disease has torn out his heart
sucked the childhood from his bones and branded him confused, sick, and broken, and unsure of what to do when the bullies tease him
it isn't their fault the boy’s disease never taught him to fight
to sharpen his voice and attack when provoked
the disease has made this boy small.
has made him unable, unsure and unaware of what to do, think or say.
he doesn't know what is right
so he keeps his pain to himself and ignores the children’s taunts
he doesn't know what is wrong
so he says ‘please don't hurt me’ to a mother that has never raised a hand to him in his life
this disease has torn my family apart.
time ticks away and the world keeps turning and my bruises have faded
but the bright red welts across the boys face are still there as a reminder
a reminder to fear the disease
a reminder that he is never safe
the disease will always be there
he will lay dormant until the time is right
and then he will strike again and again until the little boy relapses
except this time, the boy can't handle it
he can't handle the bullies taunts
or the disease’s constant threat hanging over his head
so instead of running home from school,
slowly, trying not to bring attention to himself
he smiles thinking of all those uppers the doctors have given him because now they will finally help
they will finally take him so far up he will be able to deal his own hand
far far away from the disease that he has been infected with
we slowly try to glue the broken pieces back together
we try to get each other whole again
but the process is long and bumpy and tedious
maybe one day the boys welts will fade just as my bruises did
they are no longer bright red but more of a hot pink
we still fear the danger of the uppers
and the possibility of the disease coming back in full force
but we take one day at a time
step by step
we are trying
so no matter what shitty hand you've been given please