your mother fights with your father
over anything and everything.
you realize at a young age that
your parents will always put
more effort into hating each other
than they'll ever put into loving you.

your mother surprises you and
picks you up from school one day.
she tells you that you're
going on a vacation,
and you're happy because
she's never done this before.

she takes you out of state,
and she promises that
you'll go to the beach soon.
you're so excited.

a few days go by
and you finally realize
that your mother took you
away from your father,

and that once again,
this is about hating him
and not about loving you.

you never go to the beach.

as you get older,
you figure out that
your mother does drugs.

you mop up her *****
some mornings, and you
worry about her health.

there's a program at school
that tells you all about
addiction and drug abuse.

you act like it's dumb,
and you say that you
don't want to sit through
some boring presentation
because that's what all
of the other kids are saying.

but secretly, you want
to know everything.
you can't understand
why your mother
would do something
that hurts her so badly.

you watch your mother
steal money, and you begin
to hide your own cash
in a hole in the wall.

there are times when
your mother runs out of money.
you know that when this happens,
she is going to be very mean.

your mother runs out of money
again. this time, she tells you that
she tried to have an abortion,
and that you are only alive
because she didn't have the money
or a ride to the clinic.

she tells you that if you weren't born,
nothing would be the way that is is.
she says that you were
the one child too many,
the final unwanted responsibility
that she needed to push her off
the edge of sobriety.

you believe her.

as the years go by,
you try every drug that
you come across.

you do drugs to forget.
you assume that your mother
does drugs for the same reason.
you wonder what she's
been trying so hard to forget.
you think that maybe
she's trying to forget you.

your mother leaves your life.
you blame yourself
because she blamed you,
and even if you didn't believe
a single word that she said,
you know that
she truly believed it.
and that hurts.

you move in with your father,
who makes it obvious that
you aren't wanted there either.

you've never had a curfew.
but when you come home
around midnight, your father says,
"only ****** come home this late."

your ask your father what time
to be home, and he tells you.
but he starts locking the front door
a few hours before
whatever time he gave.
sometimes, you sleep outside
on the front porch.

by sixteen, you rarely spend
nights at your father's house,
and you have no idea
where your mother is or
what she's been doing with her life.

you've been told
by your parents that
you are a *****, a failure,
a failed abortion,
and a waste of space.

you tried to commit suicide once,
and when you came home,
your father complained
about the hospital bill.

he wasn't worried
or sympathetic.
he was angry.

in an argument later
he tells you,
"next time, do it right."

you've been told
by your parents
that you don't matter.
you aren't loved.
you aren't wanted.

your parents were
your first tormentors.
they were bullying you
before you even started school.

society tells us that
our parents are always right.

for some kids,
that's good advice.

but if your parents
tell you the things
that my parents told me,

when they make you feel
the way that they made me feel,

you are being told that
you're supposed to believe them.

I still feel like I should be sorry
for not believing their words,

but if I believed everything
that my parents have said,

I would have listened to my father
and made sure that if I tried to
**** myself again, I would finish the job.

if I believed everything
that my parents have said,

I would be dead right now.