they say a child can grow up conditioning themselves
to forget
all the trauma they've experienced;
they say they quite literally push it
to the back of their minds, as a way of coping,
a way to deal with the pain―without actually dealing with it.

it'll all come crashing back, eventually
everyone knows that a dam is a temporary structure,
that eventually the chemicals in the water
will erode the wood and
break it apart

it all comes rushing in
and escapes through blood-shot eyes,
drooling, sobbing coughs and panic-slick wheezes.

i never fully managed to forget my father
though i'm sure there are things i don't remember―
after all, that's an awful lot of hatred
and anger
for only several incidents, and a lifetime of an alcoholic's neglect...
isn't it?

but you―you i managed to block out completely
to the point where i knew the phrase "emotional abuse"
but couldn't quite be sure why i applied it to you;
it was just something i knew
instinctively

how foolish it was for me to break the dam myself,
out of some morbid, masochistic curiosity:
"what did she do? what did she do to me? why?"
and then i remembered

all the sleepless nights spent reading to you,
lulling your insomniac mind (though not as bad as mind)
and soothing the supposed nightmares you had:
nightmares that you, conveniently, only suffered
when i was asleep―and i was hardly ever sleeping

all the memories you blurred between me
and your last boyfriend; all the ways
you made me feel like ****, comparing me
to a **** bag that cheated on you
and then lured you in again with falsities and
repeated apologies. you fell for it every time,
and i had to wonder: why am i not good enough
compared to that?

the way you asked me to watch you in the bath,
whilst you drew on your skin and told me:
"this is what i do to avoid cutting myself"
and i thought:
"i'm still cutting"
but i sacrificed my own stability to ensure your safety

******* martyr, i was
how disgusting to allow myself to be manipulated by you,
even after the hours you left me guessing out of spite
whether or not you'd burned your skin with that lighter
just because i didn't want to spoil your mood with my own

the holiday i spent in my dream city was spoiled
and stained and joyless, as you ****** the soul out of me
by burning images into my mind:
you and him, sharing a bath, looking after his family's kids.
why the **** would you do that to me?
more importantly, why the ****
did i let you? and still love you?

so many more incidents, so many more
broken promises and sick lies;
the way you hid me from your family
and only trusted me not to cheat because i'm demisexual;
you made sure i'd never emotionally connect with anybody else
and find attraction in them,
lest i move on from you and find another

one that wouldn't abuse me
like you did

so fixated on the idea of a father, just lately;
he's got a firm clasp on his own mouth
to stop himself from spilling,
wishing he could grip hard enough to
leave bruises
without thinking "look at me, becoming him"

pathetic, is what it is
shuts himself down with bitter thoughts and cruelty.
how ridiculous to look at mother's new boyfriend—
who she isn't even official with yet,
who she's only known for maybe four months—
and silently wish, more than wonder
"will i be calling you dad one day?"

his own dad, such a disappointment
that sometimes it gives him headaches,
trying to figure out who's more of a violent failure:
himself, or his father.
he has an ego the size of the moon
that compensates for his overwhelming insecurities
and hides his vulnerabilities;
but he can't escape his own self-loathing when there's
no one
to put on a show for

and since he grew up spending most of his days
alone and self-reliant

loneliness has been the best father he could ever ask for

I know what it must be like
to deal with me;
but I assure you
it's not as hard
as dealing with being me.

I simultaneously push people away,
keep them at a distance with falsities
designed to prevent incidents
like people actually getting to know the real me

and wish they knew enough to understand
why

why it is that I grew to become this.

'"Why girls who have close relationships with their father, make better wives"
"Why girls with 'daddy issues' are too complicated"
Enough I say, just because my father didn't decide to be in my life,        
Doesn't mean I am less of a person or would make a bad wife
My absent father does not affect the way I love
If anything it's taught me, to hold my head high and stand up

If you label me with 'daddy issues' I could only feel pride,
For every shattered disappointment I felt and for every tear I cried
For the days spent wishing and the night spent alone,
I realized I did not need a man, to build my backbone

Funny how absence can work in my favor
I am now stronger than ever, my own gleaming savior
So for boys who can't handle these women so strong
Stop trying to label us problematic and make us seem 'wrong'

Daddy never called her princess.
Never did he pick her up to place upon his shoulder.
Once in a blue moon.
He picked up a check.

He did not like cake.
Or blowing out candles.
That he made clear.

Little girl longed for loving arms.
She found them in lover after lover.
She needed to be loved.
She always loved too much or too little.

Lovers lips made her feel less alone.
She ****** strangers so the bed wouldn’t lay cold.
So maybe one day someone can finally stay.

Don't tell me to smile when it's obvious I'm livid. Grit teeth and anger seeping from my pores.  I won't ******* do it for you anymore.

⁢'s for my mother, because she taught me to cook and fix a car tire

she cleaned the house and sat with a beer in front of a Sunday football game

she cried and stood by stony faced

she was both and she was everything

it's not a broken home if there are pieces missing from the beginning and it's not a sad, father-less world if you've got a mother strong enough to raise her daughter right alone

It hurt
when I fell
off my bike,
skinning my knees
against the asphalt.

I looked up in shock,
my mouth a perfect O.
It wasn't until I saw
the blood,
streaming down my shins,
that I began to wail.

Over the crest of the hill,
I saw my father,
running to me,
his face creased with worry.

Without hesitation,
he picked me up, held me
in his arms.
I clung to him, helpless
as I was, sobbing into his neck.

He assured me that it was fine
I was fine
He was there, and
Nothing would hurt me.

Later, once home, bandaged and clean,
he threw away his favorite,
now-bloodstained, sky blue shirt.


It hurts more now
when I fall off my bike.
When he's no longer there to help me
back up,
wipe away the blood,
and promise me that I'm safe.

And as he leaves me with his words of wisdom
His blessing
I am expelling every sound he utters away from myself
I flinch from his touch
A pat on the back is like acid on my skin
In his presence I am forced to tape myself up
Whether it is to keep myself from exploding or from falling apart I still don't know
But there are times when my pieces begin to shake and quiver so violently that I start to leak and a storm rages in my head while the rain escapes through my eyes
It is in that moment that I scream at him to leave, without making a sound
And it scares me that he knows what I look like naked
because he has stared at women with my same body on the internet and has drooled over the same curves and lumps that I have
And it scares me how he can sound so sane. So sane that he convinces himself that he is stable
And it scares me that no one but me and my mother will ever truly understand how distorted his thought process is
All this fear and anger sit, rotting inside my stomach and at the center of the mass of hate, there is a spot of sadness for the good dad that left when I began to understand the things a young child should not be able to understand

Loneliness seems to be decorated like a gift.
Covered by the whispers of people and carved by their oh so curious eyes.
If only it were as simple as being alone in a room for more than 10 seconds.
I've never been able to completely grasp onto the meaning of the word "Lonely".
Yet the silence of the world has caused my lungs to fill with the drowning sensation I have so carefully attempted to avoid.
Some people call it "daddy issues"; My constant need for comfort and companionship all derived from my "daddy" walking out on me as a child.
I refuse to believe it is that simple. The choking caused by my inability to swim while being dragged down by a cinder block is simply a sensation; I have this "adrenaline ***** vibe"  about me they said. It is only a useless attempt at filling the void you've created.
Loneliness... It falls between Falling in and out of love, deciding on if you want or need someone there to comfort you. Loneliness, it occurs in any in-between moment of silence. This never ending abyss of a word has been pulling me in, as if the twinkle in my eye that came with "Oh look she has your eyes Albert!" Never existed.
I refuse to believe that this entire time all the bad things that went wrong with me along the way were just a domino affect of you walking out.
If I could go back ten years from a week before my seventeenth birthday I would tell six year old me not to invite that man to her birthday because he will simply disappoint her.
$100.00 isn't love, it is passing by with the least amount of effort.