You went away after you punched a hole in the bathroom wall of our apartment; after you harbored all of your aggression into the plaster, and felt it best to leave us all behind.

We were small and unaware that you weren't coming back; fixated on the distractions given to us to keep us in our fantasy lands.

Zero phone calls or messages left on the machine for us to listen to; to soothe the brokenness we felt in our small hearts and to ease the confusion that filled our wandering minds.  

Tears and dark nights of continuous pleads and questions to her about you; why you left us and if it was something we did, if we pushed you.

Never seeing you until we were older; anger and resentment clouding our visions, hating you for what you did, and for what you didn't do.

So many unanswered questions and tear stained pillow cases because we needed to be needed by you; we needed you to be our father.

These invisible demons are destroying my life one by one, unraveling everything I am, and turning me into something I never wanted to become.

Blood that emitted from my paining heart left unwanted stains on my favorite white dress.

Loving you made me feel broken and it made me feel weak, and I always put you first, always before me.

You took it upon yourself to undo every stitch I had sewed to keep every last bit of my sanity contained.

I should have ran away the second I heard your name and I shouldn't have taken part in every one of your mind games.

Yet through it all, you still meant everything to me because I didn't truly see in you what everyone wanted me to believe.

The knife you stabbed me in the back with turned out to be a comfortable fit and it was persuasive enough to convince me to leave.

If the blindingly cold winters of the north, could say just one thing to her in part.
It would be that she, a southern belle, knew not of the warmth of this gentleman's heart.