Thump Thump

Dear Diary,

Thump Thump, the blazing smoke pierces sharply in his lungs. Once youthful and gay, now gray and weezing.

Thump,Thump, the little ones just want to play, but no observation comes from him due to Mr. Smith's daily obligations.

Thump, Thump, he breaks through with his blustering shoes growling at her with piercing eyes. Mr. Smith settles as she brushes up the dungy smells off his plate.

Thump, Thump, the little ones' ruptured hearts are fixed by her while the little one struggles to patch her soul too. Meanwhile, the TV is crude and emphatic, she aids the blockage in the little ones' brains.

Thump, Thump, his shoes stomping in the break of day. An email directed to her, "You provide care for the little ones, when you should be groveling at my feet, maybe a split is necessary."

Thump,Thump, her heart pitter patters, with her face turning white and her pain accelerating.

Thump, Thump, he storms in, scarfing down his meal and anticipating for her rough hands to discard it.

Thump, Thump, his shoes mutilating the ground beneath his vigorous feet...

Like It Was Any Other Day.

Yours Truly,

Savannah

PS: This is my life in one poem. My dad’s sickness has changed him in a negative way and he takes it out on my mom, sister, and me. Writing has helped me cope with my problems and has transformed these issues into a work of art.