#dysfunctionalfamilies
Maybe it's time to go,
But I don't know how to leave.
There's always something to say, you never just let me be,
This house raised me with anger but also made me, me.
How can I walk away when it's all I've ever seen?
The children here I protected, the adults I witnessed fall
I can't relive this past anymore, I'm almost 30 after all.
This room holds so many memories, there's secrets in these walls.
How can some place be so comforting, yet keep my life on pause?
There's hatred in the air, masked by family dinners and decor, nothing can be out of place, you may only cry behind closed doors.
To feel sadness is to show weakness, and these people are out for blood, I've learned survival all these years, but sometimes I let the feelings flood.
Use your hands to be helpful, and your mouth only to smile, don't show your cracks, the answers no so don't ask or be prepared to be shunned for awhile.
Nov 28, 2024
Nov 28, 2024 at 11:18 AM UTC
There's dirt under my fingernails
There's pen marks on my hand
I don't know how they got there
I just don't understand
I'm curled up in a corner
My stomach is tied in knots
There's something crawling in my throat
I can't connect the dots
I've lost the feeling in my arm
From clutching it to my head
Crying up the distance
That they should have made instead
Faintly in the backdrop
They simmer in something mean
I wash my hand with soapy water
But the marks can still be seen
All I hear are glasses
They smash towords the floor
All I smell is putrid gas
From the night out just before
I'm getting kind of sleepy
And we're past the midnight mark
But it's difficult to dream
When the dreams you made are dark
But nontheless I'm sleeping
I move but make no sound
And I wake up in the morning
There's empty bottles all around
I don't know what happened to you
Because the laughter falls like sand
But there's dirt under my fingernails
And pen marks on my hands.
- Anisah Mariah
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 1:11 PM UTC