It's not like there was anything I could do.
Crying at their feet and begging for mercy would've left me more wounded then the days and months that had passed.
It's not like she would ever change.
She threw her life away to the countless days sitting in the bathroom with alcohol electrifying her veins,
turning her into the mother that I never used to know.
It's not like he actually tried anymore or understood.
He had me running in a pool of water expecting me to keep my head above the surface because he was too fed up to help me.
It's not like they even noticed.
That I was still a kid.
That as soon as my siblings beside me grew older and wiser,
I was expected to do just the same.
To maintain their level of intelligence and work.
It's not like it mattered that I was 14 when they got tired of raising me.
Of teaching me the ropes.
It's not like I was tired of holding up the weight on my shoulders,
maintaing my first job at 15.
It's not like I was fed up with their constant bickering and nagging at each other.
It's not like I didn't notice that he started looking at other women because she wasn't good enough.
Its not like she was good at hiding her misery behind those eyes that looked shattered and fragmented like pieces of a broken heart.
It's not like she wasn't a mother anymore.
It's like he wasn't a father anymore.
It's not like that at all.