The universe and I
Do not get along.
We are shards of glass from the same broken mirror,
Smashed beyond repair.

I am not made for shaking grounds
And harsh winds.  
I am made for green grass
And blue skies
And sunsets that melt into watercolor paintings.
I was made soft
But the universe is unrelenting.

The earth was born in battle.
Each day she prepares for war.
Each day she starts again

I was raised by whiskey,
Memories tainted by liquor
By no fault of my own.

I’d like to think that
I do not owe the universe a thing
For the pain it has caused me.
For the sleepless nights,
For my faulty brain,
For the family turned foes.

The universe does not owe me
A thing.
It is filled with billions of faces,
Each one begging,
Pleading
For solace.

The universe and I,
We are one and the same.
We are shards of glass,
From the same broken mirror.

Don’t wear shoes
Wear lots of sunscreen
Remember to take the long way home
Go down the unbeaten path
Don’t beat around the bush
Live naturally

Smile more
Apologize less
Cook dinner with your mom
And help clean up after
Cover your friends’ coffee
Pay for gas money
Ask for forgiveness, not permission

It was slow at first.

“We’ll still be a
family,”
is what they told us.

And for the first
few years
we were.

Our Christmases
we’re spent together.
We watched the same movies,
followed the same traditions.

And then one Christmas,
my stocking was empty.
For years my dad had given
me the same chocolate.

It wasn’t much,
but it was reliable.

I knew, despite
the broken family tree,
and years of fighting,
and countless holes
in our living room walls,
that every Christmas morning
i’d find the same bit of chocolate
that was always there.

Did he forget?
Did he not have time?
Or was I watching everything
knew, slip through
my finger tips?

And the next year
came along.
And there was no chocolate.

We still watched the movies,
and sang the songs.
but I saw the cracks
beginning to form.

At first, it was the chocolate.
And then it was the movies,
and then it was everything.

“We’re still
a family,” they said.

But I knew the truth.
I knew we weren’t.

I have learned to live
without you.

I'll watch  
a game of football
and say
school is fine
and talk about
the weather
and tell you
that I am doing well.

But you don’t care
and I tell you exactly
what you want to hear.

You never want to hear
about the hard things,
about the tough stuff.
You never want to hear
about the things dads
are supposed to care about.

So I keep it short
and I keep it clean
and I cut out all of the fat.

That way
you only know
the part of me
that you didn’t ruin.

You will never see
the woman I was supposed to
become.

You crushed her with your words
and drowned her in your alcohol.
You killed her.
You ruined her.
And she rose.
Again and
again
and again.

But she could have been special.
She could have been loved.
She could have been more
than the girl
who was shattered
and left ****** and
bruised
by you.

Just because I got
back up after being
pushed down
didn’t make me strong.

It made me afraid.
It made me a coward.
It made me selfish.

I am not forged from iron,
or steel.

I am not grateful for your torment.
The pain you crafted was not beautiful.
My trauma is not art.

I was a child
and I was scared.

You were my father
and you were
my worst nightmare.

My dad taught me
how to ride my bike.

And I rode
far, far away.

I peddled away from
the screaming,
away from the fists,
and the bruises,
and harsh words.

I learned from my father
that a house is not a home.

I learned from my father
that love is not
a given.

I learned from my father
that family
is not unbreakable.

Grief comes in waves,
lingering at the shore of my mind
before ebbing back out to sea.

There are hours before the tide
rises again.
and for those brief moments,
I am free.

I am free of loss.
I am free of pain.
I am free of the emptiness.

And then i hear something,
or see something,
or do something,
and the memories of you
come rushing back.