Slow Path

I am taking the slow path, and so

She who cannot comprehend that she and I are different

Feels it is her right to say "you'll never be anything" to me

"She's just a burden," to my father 

"She doesn't have discipline," to the neighbors

Simply because she cannot see how hard I work.

Day after day, negative words, as though her only purpose in life

Is to attempt to make me feel like I am of less worth

Than dirt tracked into the house.

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But broken bones get investigated

While words leave no marks on the body. 

They slither through the mind like snakes through the undergrowth,

Sunning themselves upon the rocks of insecurities.

While I, weary traveler,  

Must find the strength to destroy them.

I think that I would have preferred broken bones

Then, perhaps, someone would have understood

That there was something very, very wrong

And my father would not have denied abuse

Because I was not being beaten

Many nights, tears rained from puffy eyes

Until slowly the drought came

To wrap me in a cloak of numbness

Dreams were made to be broken