I am from a loneliness
That I no longer claim.
I am from a gift of God—
Call it luck if you want, the kind
Of luck that saves, and ever since that
Ripe-old age of one I say
I am from Colorado.

I am from a father that couldn’t stay.
I am from a mother who couldn’t.
But they are not important.
To miss them, they’d have to be real to me,
Not Goldilocks, not Cinderella, not Little Red Riding Hood—
Not a fairy tale.

No, the important part is this:
I am from two parents who went through hell and
Prayed to God that they could do better, and did.
I am from two parents who did their best,
But their best was not always good enough.
I am from two parents with worn-down, stomped-on hearts
And still they kept on beating.
And still they kept on beating.

Everything came down to this—
Everything came down to me.
But I am not a Lego flower built of blocks,
Generations of too-bright, too-wide, too-tight smiles
Meanwhile both hands in a bear trap.
No, I am a flower grown up from the dirt.
I am the blood rushing through me every time I put
Pen to paper.
I am stubborn softness, smart and stupid, everything and nothing.
I am what I longed to be and what I feared becoming.
I am an ocean, the deep blue fading to dark.
I am an open book written in code.

But I hope one day, dear God, I hope
That one day I’ll be brave.
One day I’ll stand on solid ground
And find a hill worth dying on.
I want a home with a willow tree,
A house built in the branches.
I want two kids to chase around, walls
Filled with laughter and messes and warmth.
And God, I want to hear my footsteps
On the floor of a courthouse, briefcase in hand.
I want to be something, I want to be someone
And heaven knows that is what I will be.

A mind like a mess, just a tangle of thoughts,
I am everything that I ever loved, lived, and lost.

walking on these wooden floors seems familiar
the creaking sound
the brown, dull finishing
the musky smell
the surroundings give me a sense of fear and disgust that I never knew I had

as I go up the stairs, I come across this photo
a photo where I see a happy couple, each holding a girl’s hand
i stare intensely at the photo
taking notes on their features
feeling the warmth of the family’s happy smiles


*****************­*******

i run into my room as fast as I can
Tears were running down my face like a river pouring excessively to the end of the waterfall.

i sit on the edge of my bed, hugging myself with my knees to my chest, contemplating my life.
why does mom burn me for getting “bad” grades?
why does dad starve me for being too “fat”?
why is my life like this?

as I walk down the stairs, I notice our family photo
noticing the fake smiles
the “nice” clothing
the perfectly planned photo for others to see and say, “you have such a good family.”

but I see it
i see right through their mask
they calculate their moves to seem like the perfect family
but they don’t know how to calculate what it takes to take care of a child:
the loving family community
the allowance of making mistakes
the state where you feel like you belong

all I feel like is an unidentified body in a morgue
dead
hopeless
unknown

unknown to the fact that I don’t know how to fend for myself
unknown to the fact that I don’t know myself at all

I am my mother’s favorite daughter
The answer to all her wishes and dreams
A companion she couldn’t find in my father
Or at least that’s how it seems

I am the one she has spoiled rotten
The one who is always painted by greed
But the burden that comes with all I have gotten
Is that I’m never just allowed to be me

When it comes to you,
I don’t know how to feel—
‘cause you’re my father,
and I love you,
but ****, you put me through hell.

I know they say
you’re supposed to heal
my first heartbreak,
but ****, you broke my heart yourself.

You hurt me,
then he hurt me,
so I had to fix me by myself.

I know you try—
and you’re trying really hard—
but that won’t fix
all the lonely nights,
crying in the dark,
all the unspoken words
from arguments that went too far.

Sometimes all I can think about
is those nights in the dark
and how you were my dad,
but yet you still broke my heart.

And for that, I thank you
for showing me all the things
as a parent that I never want to do.

And as I write this,
my heart bleeds for you
‘cause I don’t know
what path I wanna take with you.

And there’s no ending,
because our story really isn’t through—
but I hope that if you hear this,
you know, I love you.

I should be indestructible
Your blood surges through my veins like a wrathful river that refuses to decelerate
I am insecure and voiceless when I shouldn’t be
You were Joan of Arc on her final mission
I am industrious in everything I do
You were a concrete statue of Atlas bearing the pressure of the world on your shoulders
I refuse to tolerate mistreatment at the hands of fools.
You were Bette Davis in her golden era standing up for what you believed
I love my kids with every molecular fiber of my being
Because you couldn’t
I tell them everything I adore about them
Because you couldn’t
I hug them so tight I can feel their ribs about to snap
Because you couldn't
I tell them I love them to the moon and back AND to the sun
Because you wouldn’t
I show my kids how much I love them in the simplest ways
Because you couldn’t and wouldn’t
I forgive you
Because I am a mother
And I can’t stop loving you

The hole in the
Stained glass window is
Eight years old and
Mom is screaming
At us that we just
Don’t understand
Just why she hates
Our dad
Reason
Has died in the
Hands of anger
The hole in the
Stained glass window is
Six years old and
She doesn’t know
We haven’t had a
Real conversation since I
Was 7
I confide in my
Brother now
The hole in the
Stained glass window is
Four years old and
My dad is upstairs
On a call with her
We pretend not to
Hear the hollering
Through his phone
I turn the music
Up
The hole in the
Stained glass window is
Two years old and
I stare at it as
Though it’ll set me free
From the conversation
The confusion
The constant
Later I cry in the shower
Not knowing
How am I going
To handle what will
Eventually turn into the
Rest of my life
The hole in the
Stained glass window is
Not there yet and
I don’t see them kiss
Don’t see them hug
My brother knows
Something is wrong
He also knows
I’m to young for
Carrying the burden
Of why they go
Away on Thursday nights
The hole in the
Stained glass window is
Eight years old and
Hope has left I’m
Not sure when it’ll
Return to me
I wish for the love
To last this time