i am four
and i learn how to cower:
to put away
and look at you like an animal.
i am ten and i know how to cower...
and how to go to school,
and how to live alone,
but by now, i’ve learned to wish
for things greater than mom just
coming home and for you to simply
so i turn fourteen, but still you are
evil, and i,
a doll, that grows but does not extend its
past the deep end
or grows any new sets of teeth.
i age into fifteen and get broken by someone else...
and then i turn sixteen, as time goes on,
and still feel broken, but this time its
different than from when you first
and i become harder but happier…
sadder, but sharper when in a
try to heal through watching people have a love
but i fail, and still become happy,
finally, it is now, and i can say i grow up,
as i will always
continue to grow, and when you come back,
i extend my hand in thinking
it’s finally safe when
you grasp it again...
and break all of my fingers.
it is now,
and i learn how to cower.
The first poem I’ve written in months. My output has been extremely dead as of late, so this isn’t my best. I was finally starting to come to terms and heal from the trauma my dad caused me, but something happened with him recently that made it all come back. Sad affairs.