I learned to read anger before I learned to read books,
every slammed door sounded exactly like my name.
My father spoke in wounds disguised as “lessons,”
and somehow I still waited for him to say he was proud.
At dinner, the silence sat heavier than the plates,
his words cutting through me like they were born rehearsed.
“Useless,” became a nickname I answered to too quickly,
while my mother stared at the table like prayer could save me.
Now grown, I still flinch when people raise their voices,
still apologize for things that were never my fault.
Because some fathers do not break your bones
they break the mirror you use to see yourself.
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 1:52 PM UTC
I learned to read anger before I learned to read books,
every slammed door sounded exactly like my name.
My father spoke in wounds disguised as “lessons,”
and somehow I still waited for him to say he was proud.
At dinner, the silence sat heavier than the plates,
his words cutting through me like they were born rehearsed.
“Useless,” became a nickname I answered to too quickly,
while my mother stared at the table like prayer could save me.
Now grown, I still flinch when people raise their voices,
still apologize for things that were never my fault.
Because some fathers do not break your bones
they break the mirror you use to see yourself.
having resentment is the thief of a happy life
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