So I just watched this video about domestic abuse
and at the end, it was all like “when your child witnesses abuse they get fucked up” (basically)
and the taste of a cookie came into my mouth
with a memory
there I was at the kitchen table
maybe 5 or 6 years old
there I was eating a cookie and drinking milk
And just in front of me, my father and my mother were speaking
No
His voice was much louder
She was crying
He looked like he was yelling at her and making her feel terrible
About what I don’t know
I can’t remember
It was all “adult stuff” anyway
Too advanced for me to have understood
I don’t remember if he hit her
He left her standing there crying
And as he walked out of the room he turned to me and said angrily
“I hope you’re enjoying your cookie”
And then I felt part of what she was feeling
Did I do something wrong in eating the food I was given?
Was I supposed to wait?
Was I supposed to share it?
Am I supposed to stare at my crying mother and pretend like I can’t see her?
Well, I hope so
Because that’s what I did.
And I remember she looked at me with a stare that begged for help
But I didn’t know what to do.
So I sat there pretending I didn’t exist so that she’d eventually leave.
And there I was again alone with my cookie.
The end.
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The Diary
PoetryAs if the first kiss story wasn't personal enough, here's my virtual diary! I named it after the Hollywood Undead song. This will be my way of venting out to the world, and I seem to have a knack for extended metaphors. I have always written privat...
