Apr 2017
I was half asleep in my bed with nothing but dreams filling my head.
My mom was working on her computer while the house slept around her.
On the porch was my dad, smoking his pack and watching the sun rise while the outside cats searched for a bug to attack.
Then there was a shuffle and a big roar as seven to ten men burst through the door.
All while yelling and pointing their guns did they lower us to our knees.
No kings for to kneel but what do you do when they yell freeze?
A gun on my chest and a pair to my side that which never shot my body but the wounds were almost implied.
Thrown to the ground in a single motion, these men shackled my hands behind me.
They walked me past my mom frozen in fear.
On our lawn, we sat just after dawn for our neighbors to watch our house get raided by men in SWAT gear.
The day ended with no clear finish but the problem went dormant for a day or two.
Next, he was taken out of the blue.
We bought him back for a few months more before we let him leave us with the kind of void you can’t ignore.
Everything started to break without him.
One by one our house fell apart and so did we.
I heard my mom cry every night just begging for him to be free.
21 months predicted they said and he got out 3 early for good behavior.
18 months until you are free again they said, 18 months to try to not end up dead.
Forever branded for something that doesn’t make sense to me.
Forever reminded of what he had to see.
He’s home now but I can’t say he’s free, because he didn’t deserve this.
We didn’t deserve this.
Our home is dead.
They didn’t wound a body but they killed the happy thoughts in our head.
That house is a reminder, that house is not a home.
All the fear and the sadness that lives in those walls.
The days we spent waiting for his calls.
We weren’t alive.
All we were able to do was survive.
We all made it out of that entire ******* year and a half, and now I spend all my time just trying to make my family laugh or smile.
I’ll be ****** if I have to watch them cry again.
To be honest, I’m afraid.
I’m hopeful.
I know deep in my soul that this was ******* and that my dad is not a criminal.
My mom was working on her computer while the house slept around her.
On the porch was my dad, smoking his pack and watching the sun rise while the outside cats searched for a bug to attack.
Then there was a shuffle and a big roar as seven to ten men burst through the door.
All while yelling and pointing their guns did they lower us to our knees.
No kings for to kneel but what do you do when they yell freeze?
A gun on my chest and a pair to my side that which never shot my body but the wounds were almost implied.
Thrown to the ground in a single motion, these men shackled my hands behind me.
They walked me past my mom frozen in fear.
On our lawn, we sat just after dawn for our neighbors to watch our house get raided by men in SWAT gear.
The day ended with no clear finish but the problem went dormant for a day or two.
Next, he was taken out of the blue.
We bought him back for a few months more before we let him leave us with the kind of void you can’t ignore.
Everything started to break without him.
One by one our house fell apart and so did we.
I heard my mom cry every night just begging for him to be free.
21 months predicted they said and he got out 3 early for good behavior.
18 months until you are free again they said, 18 months to try to not end up dead.
Forever branded for something that doesn’t make sense to me.
Forever reminded of what he had to see.
He’s home now but I can’t say he’s free, because he didn’t deserve this.
We didn’t deserve this.
Our home is dead.
They didn’t wound a body but they killed the happy thoughts in our head.
That house is a reminder, that house is not a home.
All the fear and the sadness that lives in those walls.
The days we spent waiting for his calls.
We weren’t alive.
All we were able to do was survive.
We all made it out of that entire ******* year and a half, and now I spend all my time just trying to make my family laugh or smile.
I’ll be ****** if I have to watch them cry again.
To be honest, I’m afraid.
I’m hopeful.
I know deep in my soul that this was ******* and that my dad is not a criminal.
My house is better now. It almost feels like a bad dream.
