My mom comes in the bathroom well I'm getting
ready she apologizes and sits on the toilet
and starts to cry. She tells me she doesn't understand why he says mean things to her and all of a sudden, I see my mom as a teenage girl. I see my mom as a spitting image of me. I recall last week when I sat on the same bathroom floor curled up in a ball because a boy stopped talking to me. My mom sits on the toilet and cries and I sit on the bathroom sink doing my makeup we are the pictures of women. My mom starts immediately defending him. Maybe because he's, my father. Or maybe because just like every teenage girl we allow boys to destroy us as long as they give us those little crumbs. As long as they say they love us. I want to say she's wrong that there no excuse. That those words should have never been spat out of his mouth but I can't there's a lump in my throat and I can't speak. Maybe because he's, my father. Or maybe because he's a man and who am I if I don't defend him.
YOU ARE READING
The live's I've lived
PoetryThis is a collection of poems and pieces of writing. That I have written over the last 2 years of my life. I've never been one to actually live. To take the risk. A lot of the things I have written are about things that have happened in my head. Or...
