Did he ever love me?

Everything’s okay.

Just get in the car and go.

Just shake their hands; say hello.

Everything’s okay.


It’s just another day.

You see your father lifeless in a coffin

and your hate for him softens.

It’s not just another day,


but everything’s still okay.

Black fabrics soaked by yours brothers’ tears,

making it completely clear,

that everything is not okay.

I hate him.

Sorrow bubbles to my eyes;

I try to pop it with my eyelashes before it liquifies.

I hate him.


Did he ever love me?

How much does forgiveness demand…

to forgive someone who only rose a violent hand

instead of their children? Did he ever love me?


I can’t just hate him.

A need to love, to forgive him shown on my cheeks.

Love is something fatherless children can’t help but seek.

I can’t just hate him.


He couldn’t have loved me.

He only ever brought me pain.

Made my sanity impossible to maintain.

He never loved me.


Everything is okay again;

it’s just another day.

I hate him

because he never loved me.

Salt

Quick heart beats in cold vacant parking lots.

The tight grip, heavy breaths,

sweat.

My face shoved down hard into his backseat,

the fabric rug burned onto my cheek.

The smell of air freshener and sorrow.


His tongue tasted of the salts of my skin when he kissed me goodbye and said “I love you.”

If only I said goodbye to myself too:

a subtle wave, 

a tear.


Every salt, every atom of my sanity was stolen from me that night

Now I am bland: baggy hoodies and layered clothing,

unfun,

unlike those free “wild” girls

showing their bodies with pride.


My pride on a platter,

picked away from his teeth with a toothpick

until all that remained was nothing.


Our friends keep asking if I’m okay.

He smiles in their faces, puts his arm around me;

I say, “of course!”

I put on this show day after day,

month after month.

He says “I love you.”

Our friends applaud with so cutes and awww how sweets,

but I say nothing.

Head hung low, my eyes tell all,

whispering truths to the pavement.


He kisses my cheek…

it burns.

He says “I love you”

“Awww how sweet”

But this time,

I raise my head,

chin high, tears running down face,

My voice stern with anger,  “HOW SALT!”

Gingerbread Man

Run run run,

as fast as you can.

You can’t catch me; I’m the gingerbread man.

We run run run,

as fast as we can.

But he caught us.

And our skin crumbled like gingerbread.

Pieces of what we were supposed to be –

loved –

shattered on the floor.

We cup and scoop our pieces into our hands,

trying to morph them into something.

Something,

anything worth calling “me”…

anything worthy of being called in general.


Tears forming on my face

like the sound of a sad song caressing your cheek,

slow and cool.

My face crumbles like gingerbread.

I sob into an emptiness,

into the absence of his arms.