You and I grew up much different than one another, it would seem.
But now even as we are grown, we are recreating our childhood in a similar way.
Just a child, no more than 10 years old with a skip in your step and a sparkle in your eye.
An intense longing for a bag full of candy and the toys you so desire.
Gasping for air from laughter because your father spoke a horrible joke that made your mother shake her head and smile.
You and your family sharing your gratitude over a plentiful Thanksgiving dinner.
You and a group of friends playfully pick on the lonely kid at school to show off.
Picking on the girls that you adore, you don't know any better.
Just a child, no more than 10 years old with hesitation in my walk and puffiness in my eyes.
An intense longing for a restful sleep and sense of peace within the noises of my home.
I gasp for air as my sobs rob me of my breath because the phone hangs on dial as my mother's face is blue from my father's hands.
Me and my family sit in uncanny silence as we hold our forks with trembling hands.
As we have grown and claim one another a couple, you are no longer picking on the lonely kid at school or the little girl you liked.
You have upgraded to picking on me.
Though in this case of us growing up, the name has changed from "Picking" to "Abusing".
I am just as my mother once was, blue and broken.
And you are just as my father once was, a monster with a pretty past.
YOU ARE READING
I Have More Than A Perfect Figure
Poetry"Strength, love, suffering and healing. The gritty surface of reality written down on every page. This is a heartfelt message to everyone who can relate to the tragedy of life experiences, trauma and relationships."
