baba

I think we’d both rather deal with

brokenness than vulnerability

small talk and sometimes you get a laugh out of me,

we’re no different than roommates

our quality time is INTERRUPTED by a blade in my chest

piercing my sense intimacy.

you say you’re proud before I leave for the semester

I’ll admit, these “I love you’s” do make up for its rarity back then

you’ve forgotten, and I’m glad you did

I just wish I could too

I love you.

But is it ungrateful for me to say that

I don’t think that the child in me does?

how my arm was pinned

while she wasn’t looking

how your hand was wrapped around my neck

while you threatened to take the life out of me

each night, when you came home from the ER,

aren’t I the best punching bag?

though beautifully branded under “love”.

through adolescence,

I’ve tried to convince myself it was too

so why bother convincing anyone else?

maybe a big house makes up for it all.

though i’ve tried to push myself farther from the tree

yet, I do know that this ends here

you didn’t forget about what he did to you,

but I’ll forget by the time I hear the baby cry

still, a night every month is when I relive it all

I find myself holding a kitchen knife

before I wake up realizing I’m not in a bloodied puddle.

and if I was back home, I’d walk down the stairs,

before politely saying good morning to you.

so on the fifteenth, I sent a text instead

just to not hear the voice

of the same man from those years ago.