Anger is ugly
i know this because of the way my father wore it
as the world wore down his patience
he yelled
his voice echoed through the house that my mother fought so hard to keep
working to support me
my baby sister
and his habit

his voice echos now through coridoors of my mind
in silence they follow
they hadn't been able to find me for quite some time
and yesterday they did

my father would break things
he would throw objects when they would not work
he would punch walls when my mother looked at him funny
or when he thought she did
he threw rocks through the windows
and there is still scattered glass on the floor of my heart

My father hit my mother
he grabbed her
he chased her and told her that she would never leave
she was with him
and he would find her
my mother never knew i watched all their fights from the roof of that old house
I don't think she ever will

i dont want to tell you the details, ive suppressed them well enough
but now you may understand
why i flinch when you reach for my hand