i. when my father's pride lands on my shoulder, digging it's claws into my collarbone; demanding blood in return for his acknowledgement of my existence; I learn to receive his broken version of what love is without protest.
ii. when my mother's judgment runs it's fingertips down the curvature of my spine, searching for weaknesses in my posture, pose, and figure; my weight, skin and fissures; I learn to endure her backhanded version of love without complaint.
iii. when my younger brother's anger comes over for dinner, makes itself a guest in my first apartment; and cusses out my duty as an older sister to even give a **** about him in the first place? Tells me I've failed at loving him properly? I learn to cry without really crying at all.
iv. you think you've taught yourself how to be ice; only to realized you're just shattered water.