Tue, 10/27/2015 - 10:46 -- joduca

I am angry because you’ve hurt them

I am distraught because the little boy loves you so much despite the countless times you’ve hit him. He cannot see how two-faced you are because he is blinded by love and faded memories.

I am in pain because every time I think we’ve healed you somehow weasel your way back in.


They say accept the hand you are dealt but God was our dealer and he’s dealt us some shitty cards

and now we are stuck with an abusive ace, a queen who is blind to her kings wrong-doings, and 3 battered children trying to take shelter in the storm.

we're stuck in this rut

and have been here for the last 10 hands

we are surrounded by a whirlwind of

self-hatred and depression

doctors appointments and pills

unwashed dishes and bills

pain and unwanted tears


My brother doesn't want to live anymore

he can't stand this pain, this agony of not seeing his father

the perfect person that he’s idolized all of his life

but he doesn't know that this idol is cracked

is tarnished

is rusted from his own self-destruction


this idol is like a disease

he gets into your skin and infects your blood

and he seeps into your heart to tear a bit here and wreck a bit there

he creeps into your brain and throws everything around like a child throwing a tantrum until you don’t know which way is up and which way is down.


i don't know up from down or left from right but i do know he hurt me.

he left me with black and blue bruises on my skin and my soul.

bruises heal over time but to the little boy that idolized him

the disease has torn out his heart

sucked the childhood from his bones and branded him confused, sick, and broken, and unsure of what to do when the bullies tease him

it isn't their fault the boy’s disease never taught him to fight

to sharpen his voice and attack when provoked

the disease has made this boy small.

has made him unable, unsure and unaware of what to do, think or say.


he doesn't know what is right

so he keeps his pain to himself and ignores the children’s taunts


he doesn't know what is wrong

so he says ‘please don't hurt me’ to a mother that has never raised a hand to him in his life

this disease has torn my family apart.


time ticks away and the world keeps turning and my bruises have faded

but the bright red welts across the boys face are still there as a reminder

a reminder to fear the disease

a reminder that he is never safe

the disease will always be there

he will lay dormant until the time is right

and then he will strike again and again until the little boy relapses

except this time, the boy can't handle it

he can't handle the bullies taunts

or the disease’s constant threat hanging over his head


so instead of running home from school,

he walks

slowly, trying not to bring attention to himself

he smiles thinking of all those uppers the doctors have given him because now they will finally help

they will finally take him so far up he will be able to deal his own hand

far far away from the disease that he has been infected with


we slowly try to glue the broken pieces back together

we try to get each other whole again

but the process is long and bumpy and tedious

maybe one day the boys welts will fade just as my bruises did

they are no longer bright red but more of a hot pink


we still fear the danger of the uppers

and the possibility of the disease coming back in full force

but we take one day at a time

step by step

we are trying

so no matter what shitty hand you've been given please


This poem is about: 
My family


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