Accepting what I cannot

The burden of 17 years

I see animations of ghosts drawn by religious discord

They told me who my father was in the war

These make-believe bodies shout "look over here"

To show how fortunate I am to have made it to my 19th year

Boys Young as fourteen and executed in the streets

Molds soldiers into wendigos that hide under bed sheets

And he feasts on what he believed was his carcass

Cursed to believe his victims were truly never tarnished

I do not want to die how Jesus died

Taking the spears for man so his soul stays alive

I do not have the forgiveness it takes to be crucified

I am not a prophet; I am a fish swimming up against the tide

My memories only come in the form of a sting that trickles down my thighs

And they made sure I knew my only place was to make life

That is why my romanticized ideas of family breaks hearts

I could not stay alive with a baby in my arms

I yearn for a family that I am expected to have

But he ripped that from me with a branding iron that spelled "dad"

My beloved does not know how to help

When I say I will relive those seventeen years if I make it to hell

My beloved does not understand

My visions where I am the person behind my father's hands

My beloved says they do not get

Why safety for me comes in shallow breaths

But I am far too scared to inhale

And breathe in the annihilations in which my father prevailed