Sep 2014
The clouds wrapped the sky into a gray earth. Pounds of my heartbeats scattered, matching the rhythm of the thunder. "Protective" laced your being. I drowned in what was once a puddle of your affection. As the rolling thunder spoke, your soothing caress spoke louder. I was content. He was special. A man who was masked by masculinity. I saw through his frame. Yet he joked and told tales, he yearned to feel a certain touch.
It was early in the afternoon one day in a house my father could not afford. My father buckles me in my car seat. Irritated, as any other toddler, I kicked and screamed. I had a constant desire to know where my mother was. Unaware, I was on a new journey without her. Settling in the curiosity, I fell asleep in my car seat. I dreamt a sweet dream of being back home with my parents.
At my age, I am now aware that my mother had left me. My father had dropped me off at my grandparents. They became my guardians, and I loved them. Restless nights haunted my toddler soul and bones. I cried myself to sleep in my grandfather's arms, rocking in a rocking chair. I dreamt a sweet dream of being back home with my parents.
He was around the age of thirteen. Embezzled in basketball and video games, he was happy. The parents divorced years prior. Yet, his mother and father occupied him with gifts and gave attention.
It was a weekend in the month of February, his birthday weekend. He was due to visit with his father. He was disappointed to acknowledge his father's car to never show up. His mother smiled, sadly. "He will come next weekend, sweetheart." Next weekend turned into the next month. The next month turned into the next year. The next year turned into five years, where he had finally returned..
We swallowed abandonment to have never been digested. I twirled in the absence of my mother's departure. He caught the hurt by the neck and turned it inwards.
He understood my grief, I understood his resentment. The mutual pain outlined the shape of us. He nurtures my softly vacant heart, while I paint him pictures of new perspectives.
It was early in the afternoon one day in a house my father could not afford. My father buckles me in my car seat. Irritated, as any other toddler, I kicked and screamed. I had a constant desire to know where my mother was. Unaware, I was on a new journey without her. Settling in the curiosity, I fell asleep in my car seat. I dreamt a sweet dream of being back home with my parents.
At my age, I am now aware that my mother had left me. My father had dropped me off at my grandparents. They became my guardians, and I loved them. Restless nights haunted my toddler soul and bones. I cried myself to sleep in my grandfather's arms, rocking in a rocking chair. I dreamt a sweet dream of being back home with my parents.
He was around the age of thirteen. Embezzled in basketball and video games, he was happy. The parents divorced years prior. Yet, his mother and father occupied him with gifts and gave attention.
It was a weekend in the month of February, his birthday weekend. He was due to visit with his father. He was disappointed to acknowledge his father's car to never show up. His mother smiled, sadly. "He will come next weekend, sweetheart." Next weekend turned into the next month. The next month turned into the next year. The next year turned into five years, where he had finally returned..
We swallowed abandonment to have never been digested. I twirled in the absence of my mother's departure. He caught the hurt by the neck and turned it inwards.
He understood my grief, I understood his resentment. The mutual pain outlined the shape of us. He nurtures my softly vacant heart, while I paint him pictures of new perspectives.
