my stomach was in knots as i told you the news but i didn’t expect was the yelling the hitting and following bruise it is yours; I swear and I am yours too but you don’t want to see him don’t care when I am due i will raise him alone apple falling far from the tree show him how to love and be good show him what a man should be so that when he grows old and has a baby on the way he can be a proper father he will not run away
In my phone There’s a contact name that’s just swear words The occasional bad bad word that I can say in therapy but don’t in public And it’s my mom’s contact name I changed it after our 1millionth fight Right before I left for uni Because she called me fat And at the time I was five months sober of my eating disorder Maybe sober isn’t the right word but whatever And my brain snaps I scream and cry She screams back at me I call her “fat” back because I’m mad And I spend the night sobbing I even call my abusive dad who chose to leave therapy because he thinks he’s getting better He hasn’t left his girlfriend who restricted food from me yet so, are you sure Dad? And he tries the whole facetime while I audibly cry to not sound mean about her And I thank him for trying in my head Because my mom only refers to him as slurs or Satan I eat the entire cake she got me in the fridge the next day Before even noon I feel bad immediately after but at least she can’t have any And then I’m suddenly jealous that she didn’t have any So no weight gain I drink two cups of iced coffee with that extra calorie Starbucks syrup And then my sister gets me Popeyes She gets me this after yelling at our mother Because we don’t really talk that much openly But we both have our own scars from her words Mine developed into eating disorders, cuts on my legs, and just general mental illness Hers just developed into being a rock solid wall When my mom comes home and sees me eating She takes a bite
a young girl's heart pouty strawberry lip smacker a perfect purple bra an old man’s invitation bruises on her legs a lover’s burn on her wrist daddy is a dipsomaniac, mommy my deranged
singing into the big camera frame, satiating his desires, polka dot underwear in tatters sending white lily bouquets calling out for submissive, sweet girl, innocent *******, weak in the knees rewarding her with a kiss or three, his forbidden fruit to keep
***** in her veins, wide eyes rolling back into the sky daddy’s savior nowhere to be seen, her bible in the hand of the man moaning her name across the screen
When I was born the theme for the shower was Noah’s Ark, which if you don’t know is the story of hundreds and thousands of People being drowned by their father because He made them in a way that He knew He had no choice but to hate. And because He had the power. I always think this is a strange inheritance To give a Child: Countless mothers, thrashed against rocks and stones and trees that grow seed-bearing fruit, Grandparents scraped against the sides of cities, Sisters sputtering when lungs burn up with water. Chaos everywhere. Pallid bodies floating over dark depths. Waves bigger than mountains, surging over clouds. Growing with the torrent. And worst by far, Wailing that is louder than the onslaught of rain in sheets the size of seas. When I go home I wince at blankets and baubles Plastered with smiling elephants, giraffes and dolphins, blushing two-by-two. That is just like my mother to look at the tempest that killed everyone alive and see the animals
I was conceived on acid and whippets, the drugs a kaleidoscope of umbilical dreams. I was conceived on bad luck and lust, from darkness and sexually exploitive childhood trauma. I was conceived on teenage dreams and difficult childhoods, to black sheep children of 17.
I was raised on addiction and narcissism, a love bomb here and authoritarian abuse there. I was raised on the chess long game, to lose a piece here means to win at the end. I was raised on 2000s tv, Lorelei Gilmore my wish for a mother, Rory my idol.
I taught myself strength in building up a fantasy on the outside while my castle crumbled within. I picked myself up by the tendrils of a lost childhood, by the whispers of good memories, by the hiding places I found in pages upon pages of someone else’s imagination.
And I let it all go at 28. To find peace. To start over. To build myself a new castle with no more haunted corners or echoes of pill bottles or smells of ***** and orange juice permeating the breaths of those who walk these sacred halls. Rib cage cut open, heart destroyed and renewed, ancient umbilical nooses cut with teeth.
I will no longer fall victim to my mother’s circumstances or my father’s mistakes, I will never have the soul I’ve created look at me and ask himself if he is loved or safe.
I am cycle breaker, I am generational karma’s worst ******* fear, I am no longer frightened maiden, I am fearsome mother. I am new.