I am broken but that is okay, right?
It does not mean that I can not:
hope,
dream,
love,
care,
fight.
I am broken but that is okay, right?
It means I have:
been through hell,
suffered,
watch people suffer,
kept terrible secrets,
It means I have lived on, despite.
I am broken but that is okay, right?
It means:
I cherish the light,
but not afraid of the night,
if I end up alone that it is alright,
but if not that is a delight,
it means you can kick, hit, cause me to have random breakdowns, or even bite,
but no matter what, I can write.

Three days to a week.
Twice a month or skip a month.
Day Two and I hurt.

I HATE IT!!!!
How my emotions can now get the best of me.
All it takes is one sad show, one sad movie, one sad:
story,
book,
life tale,
song,
I don’t even need some sad trigger and I am at the beginning again  standing at a shore that looks into a vast sea.
An: angry,
sad,
depressed,
dying and in agony ocean with each fish holding some sort of painful memory.  No this sea is not calm.
Each time I think I am getting better, WRONG, I am just a ticking time bomb.
Yep, that is right I just EXPLODE, BOOM!
Do you want to know what it feels like?
Well guess what, I will tell you anyway:
you are decaying from the inside out,
your heart feels like it is on fire and melting onto your rib cage, dripping on each and every other *****,
your brain thinking so many things at such an accelerated rate you can hardly make it out but at same time it is thinking nothing,
you are in so much pain you can not even shout, even harder to type these words down, I probably sound like a clown.
Tears? FORGET IT, you ran out of those long ago.
I always tell myself:
there are people who have had it worst than I, it is true I can not deny.
Look at me though, this is PITIFUL.
I envy:
those who cut themselves,
or try to commit suicide.  
They get help, they can not hide.
It is funnier because if you saw me on a street this is not what you would see.
I would be as happy as a bumblebee.

The laundry area was in the same room where he slept.
Since it only takes one to the job it is the perfect place for a “test” site to be kept.
On any day, at any moment, behind you he could be lurking.
You both know you can not force your way past him, which is why he is Smirking.
“Close your eyes, hold out your hands,” is what he demands.
There is no other option, you have no choice, you do as he commands.
It is long and kinda slender and in your hand all it does is shake.
With eyes open now I stare at him in confusion that is not hard to fake.
Put it in his hands and walk away, there is nothing you can say.
A few weeks later you have a chore to do, that needs to be done.
The coast is clear, or so you thought, for when you leave, you see in the darkness A silhouette that you can not outrun.
“Close your eyes, hold out your hands,” is what he demands.
There is no other option, you have no choice, you do as he commands.
You hold something both squishy and hard, that you never felt before.
Open your eye and you are surprised, drop your hand, and stare at the floor.
Every time in your room you are puzzled and ask yourself if this is what you Should expect from a father.
One thing is for is sure is it feels wrong and is a bother.
Every now and then for a while these “test" transpire.
Every time he seems angered that you do not have the same desire.
He did not seem to be doing anything to anyone but you.
Knowing that, you do not know what to do.
If he stops, does that mean that is over or that he has moved on.
If he stops, what is a pro and what is a con?
You could try to make him satisfied.
A thought like that only makes you feel horrified.
Coward, Coward, COWARD, is all you think and still sometimes think.
You write those words in your journal of depressing thoughts with what you Wish sometimes is blood, but rather is ink.

You have the proof.
You know what he has done.
Is it because he lived under your roof,
That he is your son,
That you still think it is a bunch of  lies?
That he has been innocent all along.
I can see it in your eyes,
It is not your son but me who has done wrong.

You left us with him.
Knowing that he hurt you too.
I do not blame you.

Ages 5-10
I do not know where to begin.
You were my hero.
I remember how you would come home from a long day of work and have a Snowball fight .
Are family was perfect even when we had no money in sight.

Ages 11-13
Your true self was revealed to be rather mean.
I was confused and not amused.
You would put me through tests.
My answers were always of protest.
I did not want to give in and I was afraid.
If I did not give in would you eventually make a trade.
Would you go after one of my sisters you terrible mister.
I wanted to protect but I did not want to do what you call respect.
You began to get irate and punished me by putting me in the worst mental State.
It got so bad that all you would have to do is stare and that was more than I Could bare.
I would run outside and hide in which I would break down cry and wish to die.
In a way though I was happy because you seemed content in my torment.

Ages 14-18
More got added to this torturous routine.
He must have thought this was a game because he brought people in.
This must be a sin.
These people were my family who had about a dozen kids and now they are to Stay here and I am put in charge of their care.
I am a slave who must be brave but that does not mean I will behave.
I still must keep those evil eyes on me.
Make it so I am all that he sees.

Ages 19-20
I have scars aplenty.
My mom who has been out of the picture came and saved the day.
She grabbed sisters and took them away.
With them finally being loved, I can be as free as a dove.
For a while I was and things were great but the shock has caught up and I told It, “You’re a bit late.”