when the therapist asked
about my family history,
I gave her a history lesson.

I told her that growing up,
my house was a war zone.

I don't remember
what year it was, but eventually
the house collapsed into itself.
that trauma left me scared and hurt
with nowhere to go.

my mother moved out first.
she moved straight into
a life of addiction, and then
she found a new house
in the form of a jail cell.

my father also began
to call a jail cell his home.
he moved into the newspaper,
and then into the database of the
national *** offender registry.

now, we have separate houses
and conflicting beliefs.

we don't share anything
besides that story
and our DNA.

I couldn't tell her
about my family history,
because I don't
have parents anymore.

I have no family.
all I have is history.