TW: DV

When I was younger I used to try to decipher why my father made me feel like such an outsider, he was his happiest with me as an outlier separated by a barbed wire divider. He'd always say that I'm just a good liar, I say "no, I'm not"  I am my father's least favorite daughter.

It was never a question if his blood flowed through my veins, he knew I was his, but still his disdain for me remained. He struggled to even find the desire to pick out my name. my mother says "during that time he felt a lot of shame and it was easier for him to hand you all the blame" but what baby has the strength to carry a man's shame with their ten tiny fingers and small frame? I wasn't even born yet and I was already losing at his game.

I mourn for the life I could've lived one where I viewed the man who gave me life, as a gift. I mourn for the way I as a child had a perpetually clenched fist. I mourn for the way he forced us to take his teachings like he was a revered pastor, shouting from a pulpit...
I mourn for the little boy he once was and how he couldn't help but tap on things and fidget, and how at nine he didn't know how to tell the teacher in English "I need my lunch ticket."

He couldn't stand how I began to defy and resist, a fire inside me he spent my whole life trying to keep from being lit. He didn't understand how at fourteen I already knew he'd never be a loving enough father for me to want to submit, the way a daughter should want to in a family that's tight knit.

He'd call me stupid and a coward but I realize now it's because he saw the strength and power that cascaded out of me like a gardenia tree blooming with flowers. The dominion he claimed over my life, it wasn't mine- it was "ours"- was immeasurable, reminding me I wasn't free, over and over again for hours.

He treated me like a creature that felt no pain
one that wasn't able to think for herself and didn't have a brain
he viewed me as an enemy that he needed to slay
I used to pray that maybe i'd live long enough to one day make my escape

Fifteen years old with three days worth of clothes shoved into a bag in the middle of a night in August, I fled
From all the horrors of this house and my childhood bed
From all the nights and mornings I was left unfed
From all the times he'd overpower me rather than being my father instead

There was a time when I saw him again
I was having breakfast as vile words were spoken to my mother so "don't talk to her like that" was said
he told me I wasn't brave enough to stand up and before a second thought could pass through my head
I rose to my feet to cross swords with my father, i don't even remember what I was eating, but I think it was toasted bread
I fearlessly looked into the eyes of this man and remembered how many times I had bled
and how even though that blood was scarlet, this time I was seeing bright red
"i'll just call the officials." startled he said
and he trembled as he pulled out his phone, like he had seen someone come back from the dead.

Years have passed and tears have fallen
and floated along in the wind with all the seeds and all the pollen
and planted were those seeds and with my tears were they watered
and I see now that my favorite person will always be
my father's least favorite daughter

Kids outside, you’re only 5
You were so young, time spent
inside, no youth
you said it does something to you.

You chased love, 3 blocks,
but she left, your first heartbreak.

Years Down the road,
love reintroduces himself,
you give nurturing love,
2 beautiful kids, repaid in black & blue.

He fractures & bruises, and you lie.
Swallow your pride.
Two years of drafting silence but then you speak.
Away you Get.

But life detest you again,
every chance it gets.
He just turned 18, crash, a wreck,
He didn’t even get a chance, a mother’s son.

Then again in Cold Blood, the world
took the other one, 7 times in back he shot.
The daughter, also a mother, could she even fight back.
What were there final thoughts ? She’ll never know.

You’ve taken both from this world, back to raising someone on my own again.
No Job, making ends meet. Sirens Blare, but not in defeat.

You deserve peace I say.
A Happy Ending, she’ll soundly sleep.

Getting too comfortable is dangerous,

It eventually ends, all we do is fight and fuss.

We are meant to grow, be a better version of ourselves

Instead, we bring each other down and I start questioning myself.

I am worthy and so are you, I am letting you go, and you should too.

We both know how this will end, it’s something we can’t bear.

He handed it to me when I was 25,
with a Cheshire cat smile,
knowing it wasn't my team,
and liking it all the better for it.
I wore it,
reluctantly,
the Kelly green of it a traffic cone
warning others not to get too close
brim worn thin
on the edges
where he was always
making sure it sat
...just.
right.
until the shamrocks stitched to the side
could no longer mask the shackles
I tore it off
set it ablaze in the front yard
and let my soft ginger curls
fly free in the breeze,
finally mine again.

So maybe I see you in him.

Maybe I see unconditional love on both sides.

Maybe I see none of his mistakes, and none of mine because he doesn’t bring them up.

Maybe I see some one who has some type of control over something I don’t.

Maybe he needs the fact I live life day by day and I need his plans.  
Maybe he needs me to show him plans don’t go accordingly but my bubbly personality makes that worth while, maybe my optimism needs his pessimism so together we have a realistic view, for realism is both optimistic and pessimistic, but not without a realistic view-

You mix two colors together and get an idea plastered in purple -

Your favorite color is red and so is his.

Blue is the color that I associate to you.

He told me he would show me purple sky’s and I have a portrait to show the accuracy -  

He’s purple sky’s

If the sky was around my neck.

And painted with a belt.

But, I could belt out how much I love you.

With screams under my pillow because maybe it’s too abrasive.

But is abrasive compatible with abusive?

Maybe I too am abusive? Or maybe I was just prepared enough for abuse that I fight back and I’m reactive.

Not like an active volcano, because in technicalities he’d be reactive to his emotions, and we could call that reactive abuse-
But we know what the term reactive abuse refers to.

And as i reference purple sky’s this guys hand painted the picture around my neck when I was actually supposed to be using my neck to look above me and reaching for the galaxy behind the sun set that painted the sky purple for me.

And I wasn’t being facetious when I said I have the portrait it’s on my camera roll but I was on a roll when I drew the picture for you as he drew his belt from around his waist for me.

What a waste my life would be if he’s The One that kills me.

I wasted my time on him drugs and alcohol, I wasted my potential- when he’s my potential murderer. And I his potential victim.

It’s crazy when I think back.

He told me he saw my potential, but did he really mean my potential as me. Or did he mean his potential that he had set for me. Victim me.

So, yeah I guess I would be lying if I said I see him in you.

You’re nothing alike…
You’d choke him for choking me.
And he’d choke me because I drank today.

When you’d tip the bottle back and tell me to chug..

Y’all are nothing alike.

That’s why I was in love with you, and he is the love i let my life have.

When you fall in love with a mean man you’ll find yourself truly believing that you deserve the misery. The fighting, the hurt and the crying feels all too consistent. Uneasy becomes your default setting as you find yourself walking on eggshells to avoid the anger. You’ll forget how you once loved the sensation of skin-to-skin contact the more you catch yourself flinching at his touch. When he points out that you’ve gotten distant you wont even notice how guilt melts into consent as he takes what he tells you he deserves. It’s alright, he loves you. 
If you’re anything like me you’ll believe that you’re not enough. You’ll believe that it’s your fault when he starts a fight. If only you could do better, then he’d have no reason to be upset. You wont believe it when your mom tells you it isn’t healthy to come home crying every time you see him. You wont believe your friends when they tell you that you deserve better than a possessive man who won’t let you out of his sight. Worst of all, you certainly wont believe yourself when you’re brain is screaming that you cant take it anymore; because your heart is screaming even louder, “He loves me!”