Destruction

My life is a skyscraper full of opportunities. Yah know, the type of building that has those cool revolving doors, only... alcohol is the child who can’t stop going through them no matter how many times their parents yell.

 

My fear is that one day I will follow and get trapped inside those same doors

 

I am claustrophobic and alcohol is the elevator coincidentally getting stuck in the middle of the ninth and tenth floors.

 

It is 10 o’clock on a Saturday and all I can hear are the screams of my parents:

“We are getting a divorce. This is it. We are done.”

But they don’t teach you that in kindergarten so… What does that mean?

 

I grew up thinking divorce wasn’t that serious because in my house the words “we are getting a divorce” meant nothing.

They were empty threats, intoxicated I love you’s, by morning it was as if they were never even said.

 

In my house love was yelling so loud we cried. It was holes in the walls and furniture thrown across the room. Love was not love, but the poisoned words from the bottom of an empty vodka bottle.

 

These bottles are dangerous and deadly. No one can tell me otherwise. They had the power to rip my family and childhood to shreds. They ruined parties and family events. Because of the bottles filled with poison the only conversations my siblings know how to have are about how much my dad drinks and how negative my mom is.

 

When my parents drink too much my mom throws all the money she has away at the casino while dad stumbles his way home.

 

Stop telling me you’re getting a divorce just to pretend we are alright tomorrow.

 

Alcohol is the poison killing my father. This summer I spent my time at the hospital wondering if he was going to make it.

He did.

 

It’s not over. Alcohol wants a rematch. It still controls his life. He refuses to talk about it. I asked him three months after getting out of the hospital if he had a death wish. With confusion written all over his face he responded with no.

 

That was a lie.

 

His expression slowly faded as he saw what I had. The empty vodka bottle I found hiding in the basement.

Alcohol has been playing it’s stupid game my whole life.

 

Alcohol,

You won over my dad. You won over my mom and you won over their marriage.

You won over my childhood and my siblings, but you will NEVER win me over.

 

I have replaced those revolving doors with a  window, I can look back but never return.

 

Well played

Game over

I win

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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