Woman.

Therapy Session.

Let's start off our session,
Introduce yourselves and tell me a little bit about the reason your here.

My name is,
When I was younger,
My mother and father fought.
Or my father fought and my mother suffered.
I watched my father beat my mother until her skin looked a lot like the purple and blue crayons in my 64 pack.
My father liked my mother quiet,
At the dinner table he told her to not speak with food in her mouth,
Even when there wasn't,
And she learned to be silent all the time.
My father liked me though,
He said I was a man,
And men are the most important.

He didn't like my sister though,
He told her he yelled at her out of love,
I think that's why she stays with her husband.
Although her husband like making her body look like the road maps we traveled in the summertime.

But anyways,
My mother never said much,
And when she did I saw these ugly blue spots on her cheeks.
My father loved her too,
Sometimes I heard them at night.
Mostly my father,
I think they were jumping on the bed cause I heard the springs moving.
I heard my mother screaming too,
But it didn't sound fun.
I wanted to play those games too but my father said it was for big boys and I wasn't old enough.

My mother hated my father,
She always looked at him as if she was looking at death itself,
She was afraid.
She always told me I looked too much like him,
I thought that was wrong too.
But I loved her.
She was my mother.

When I was 14,
My father brought me a real woman.
She was pretty,
She was tall with long hair that looked a little too shiny,
Perfect brown skin,
And a bright smile on her plump lips.
My father told me to have fun.
And I did.
She didn't bruise as easily as my mother though,
But eventually she did.
She didn't look like she was having fun,
But I kept going.
I wanted to be like my father.
So when she started screaming,
I was enjoying it.
I think that was wrong.

I think what I did to that lady was wrong, 
She just kept screaming.
But when I was done my father said I did a good job.
He was wrong.
I think about that lady sometimes,
And how angry I was with women.
How angry I was at my father.
My mother.
I hurt the pretty lady.
She was crying,
But there was a smile on my face.

Do you think I was wrong?