Jun 2021
Pretty Broken One
King of his castle, you making his scorching coffee at 7 years old,
Correctly—One rounded teaspoon of sugar and
Enough milk to change it to a light brown.
Be careful not to spill it,
Walking on egg shells that are hurting your bare feet,
Walking from a post-supper kitchen,
To a dimly lit dining room.
You decide to say something, thinking of your mama
Working at the office late again, because
She is too proud to admit to her family that
She paired up with a man that tried to control her.
At night, after she would read to you at bed time, she
Talked about the respect she felt at work,
But not here.
Mama reassured you—
Someday, you would find your voice too.
Daddy, I would like to play soft ball.
Think girl. Your brother has little league.
Head down, you start to walk away.
Girl, those dishes ain’t gonna clean themselves.
And you looked out the window over the sink
At your brother playing rundown with his friends.
The water had gotten cold and
You reheat the dishwater absentmindedly.
Tucked in a canopy bed that you were supposed to love,
You heard them at the door.
A crash. Mama was gone.
But you would be fine.
She wasn’t around much anyway.
It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.
Daddy reminded you how much he spent on
“Your Big Day”.
You thought he would change.
A stone that needed some polish:
With marriage. With children.
But those eggshells you trod upon with daddy
Were now broken glass from busted up
Family portraits and beer bottles.
Excuses. Makeup. Then the roses.
But a spark, no more dazzling
Than a Bic out of lighter fluid,
The tiniest spark from mama flickered in your soul.
And by the grace of God caught fire,
Burning through ****** memories as kindling.
Good bye to everything that you knew.
The facade you put on, fooled your new world,
And it took hours of 3AM talks
For you to trust me and let me see
The fighter inside.
How I am in awe of you as we compare pasts
And I am humbled and
Ashamed of the **** I call problems.
All I can do is love you the way
You should have been loved all along.
But you really don’t actually need me,
Do you? You are seeing that now.
But you want me anyway.
And we will walk side by side,
Neither of us more broken than the other.
King of his castle, you making his scorching coffee at 7 years old,
Correctly—One rounded teaspoon of sugar and
Enough milk to change it to a light brown.
Be careful not to spill it,
Walking on egg shells that are hurting your bare feet,
Walking from a post-supper kitchen,
To a dimly lit dining room.
You decide to say something, thinking of your mama
Working at the office late again, because
She is too proud to admit to her family that
She paired up with a man that tried to control her.
At night, after she would read to you at bed time, she
Talked about the respect she felt at work,
But not here.
Mama reassured you—
Someday, you would find your voice too.
Daddy, I would like to play soft ball.
Think girl. Your brother has little league.
Head down, you start to walk away.
Girl, those dishes ain’t gonna clean themselves.
And you looked out the window over the sink
At your brother playing rundown with his friends.
The water had gotten cold and
You reheat the dishwater absentmindedly.
Tucked in a canopy bed that you were supposed to love,
You heard them at the door.
A crash. Mama was gone.
But you would be fine.
She wasn’t around much anyway.
It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.
Daddy reminded you how much he spent on
“Your Big Day”.
You thought he would change.
A stone that needed some polish:
With marriage. With children.
But those eggshells you trod upon with daddy
Were now broken glass from busted up
Family portraits and beer bottles.
Excuses. Makeup. Then the roses.
But a spark, no more dazzling
Than a Bic out of lighter fluid,
The tiniest spark from mama flickered in your soul.
And by the grace of God caught fire,
Burning through ****** memories as kindling.
Good bye to everything that you knew.
The facade you put on, fooled your new world,
And it took hours of 3AM talks
For you to trust me and let me see
The fighter inside.
How I am in awe of you as we compare pasts
And I am humbled and
Ashamed of the **** I call problems.
All I can do is love you the way
You should have been loved all along.
But you really don’t actually need me,
Do you? You are seeing that now.
But you want me anyway.
And we will walk side by side,
Neither of us more broken than the other.
