If I drink enough,
I can still feel my dad's punch.
The soft, warm hands that cradled me,
That painted sidewalks in my honor.
The cold, calloused fingers that taught me to dice veggies,
And the bruised, bleeding knuckles that
held me close through sobs.
I can feel the sharp sting of every beating I endured
For simply living in his spotlight.
I was the weeds, sapping away life in his garden of youth.
Does a **** choose to take root?
I can still hear the shattering glass
And cracking of wooden frames
Holding carefully placed brush strokes-
I was displaying my soul like a punching bag
In every soft color placed.
I can feel the floor shake,
Hear his screams as he wiped away my pride
Again
And again
In one fell sweep, shattering my safe spaces,
Destroying everything that meant anything to me-
As if my misery would bring back his joy.
I share her face every single day;
I know his pain intimately.
I wear it on my skin like a glove too small for hands of my own to fill.
Still, I wasn't strong enough to pull out for him.
Do I deserve the blame
For taking root in a womb unfit to raise?
I don't drink anymore.
Jan 10
Jan 10, 2026 at 1:53 AM UTC
If I drink enough,
I can still feel my dad's punch.
The soft, warm hands that cradled me,
That painted sidewalks in my honor.
The cold, calloused fingers that taught me to dice veggies,
And the bruised, bleeding knuckles that
held me close through sobs.
I can feel the sharp sting of every beating I endured
For simply living in his spotlight.
I was the weeds, sapping away life in his garden of youth.
Does a **** choose to take root?
I can still hear the shattering glass
And cracking of wooden frames
Holding carefully placed brush strokes-
I was displaying my soul like a punching bag
In every soft color placed.
I can feel the floor shake,
Hear his screams as he wiped away my pride
Again
And again
In one fell sweep, shattering my safe spaces,
Destroying everything that meant anything to me-
As if my misery would bring back his joy.
I share her face every single day;
I know his pain intimately.
I wear it on my skin like a glove too small for hands of my own to fill.
Still, I wasn't strong enough to pull out for him.
Do I deserve the blame
For taking root in a womb unfit to raise?
I don't drink anymore.
Updated
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