Dear Father,

You taught me how to turn my fear into anger at a young age

Taught speaking caused more hurt in the end

Maybe that’s why I was so quiet in school

You conditioned me to equate hurt with love and anger with freedom

Taught silence was safety

It was learning not to cry

It was learning how to look teachers it the eyes and say I fell with a face splitting grin

It was learning to try and find happiness in the pain

You affected all of us

You turned our home into a battlefield

Shaped us into monster with black bruises and apologizes in the form of candy

 

Turned us into another statistic

 

And you never took responsibility

 

We never got an “I’m sorry”

 

Or an “I’m trying” or even a simple “I love you”

 

All we got was silence

 

As if there was a dead body in our living room

 

And we were acting as if it wasn’t there

 

Like we weren’t walking around with the murderer still holding the murder weapon afraid he might strike again

 

You don’t

 

Not in the same way as before

 

But bodies are accumulating

 

And they’ve crowded every area of our home

 

But were still acting like we can’t see them

 

And those who acknowledge the bodies turn into one

 

Because the dead can’t be speak

 

One way or another were forced into silence

 

Forced to hide the past

 

And some days I can’t ignore the bodies  

 

And how these black boys scare me b/c they look just like you

 

But I’ve already learned how to turn that fear into anger

 

And how ironic was it that the one that turned me into another statistic turned my black bruises into unwanted black kisses was a spitting image of you

 

As if I can never get away from you

 

Away from the bodies

 

And it’s hard to let go b/c you don’t even understand how angry I am

 

You don’t even care

 

You don’t even care

 

But what can I expect if all that is left in our home is dead bodies

 

And dead bodies are silent

 Sincerely, Your Daughter