Drunken rage and slamming doors.

Listening for dreaded boot heels on floors.

The snapping of leather coming our way,

Praying we would leave today.

Our mother ignoring our screams

Crushing all our hopes and dreams.

That someone would protect us

And keep us safe.

Instead, leaving our bodies to cry and ache.

Growing, adapting, and maturing too soon.

Too many nights gazing at the moon

Praying for the day we could flee,

But that day came only for me.

The others had to stay behind.

A day that will never leave my mind.

The constant battling of the evil inside.

Learning the reason it was there.

Those who planted it always denied,

Said the hatred and anger was mine to hide.

Never admitting their culpability.

Showing instead, only hostility.

Children are either a tool or blessing,

And we were tools, made for punching.

Our parents never loved us,

We were merely created for their amusement.

An existence so heinous,

No one could ever love us.

At least that’s what they made me see.

A fact, thankfully, that wasn’t made to be.

Because someone did love me.

They chose to see the true, chaotic me.

Allowed me to be happy.

Accepting my faults and seeing beauty.

Loving everything, despite all odds,

The way my parents never would.

Something that cannot be understood.

As always, time would pass by.

The light, slowing coming into my eyes.

Joy filling my heart.

Filling the cracks, each and every part.

Bringing our children into existence

Refusing to be like them, showing much persistence.

Holding them in my arms,

Vowing to protect them from every harm.

The way a mother should.

The way mine never could.

Gazing into my children’s souls

And loving them from their heads to their toes.

A love exceedingly more vast

Than anything experienced in the past.

Breaking my heart again once more

Realizing I was nothing but a chore.

A burden placed on their shoulders,

Fueling a fiery hatred that still smolders.

The way I needed so desperately

To hear a measly sorry.

Knowing on no occasion

Would wounds heal of my parent’s abrasions.

Words that cut deeper than a knife,

Echoing inside for the rest of my life.