my father is a pushy man
sturdy as stone, with a thick, booming voice
and a loud yell.
hes always telling me
"son, work harder."
while im in my bed, throwing up,
unable to breathe,
with machines all over me.
im only five.
my father is a cruel man
"this is nonsense!"
he shouts in my face, ripping the dress off of me.
he cuts my thin, white hair poorly and throws a mug in my direction,
which lands, shattered,
below my crutches.
im only eight.
my father is a downright
awful
disgusting
vile, man.
"you are insane! why are you in my house!"
he yells
rain pouring down
as i peer down towards the shattered sculpture 17 stories below me.
with tears rolling down my face, i yell at him
"father, you are a pushy, cruel, awful, disgusting, vile man."
then i hoist myself over the ledge.
im only eleven.
YOU ARE READING
My Hallucinatory Masterpeice
PoetryAn anthropology of poems from the perspective of galatea claude, from identity v. This was written by Galatea Claude-Valden, who is an alter in a DID system.
