I come over & embrace the one I considered dad at some point.
I grab a piece of birthday cake from a somber room filled with all too familiar eyes that say too much. They ache.
Quick tongues & vacant hearts.
Shaky hands & no love worth calling art.
These are the actions of the product of generational trauma & broken homes.
Halfway through my cake before we hear threats of death from liquored breath.
I continue to eat because it’s the only thing I would call sweet in that visit.
Everywhere I turned there was a story, ones that would make you weep if you had empathy & a reason.
I finished the slice of cake & finally break, call my mother because she’s a strong woman I know.
I learnt it from her but this time I couldn’t help. I couldn’t help this time.
I couldn’t ******* help.
I cursed God
I cursed the moon
I cursed myself
& then I cursed some more
Easy to understand the picture when you’re in it because it’s not just a moment it’s moments & more.
I fear for the future & what is & could be.
But I know fear is the devil so I’ll try not to curse no more.