Loving-Hating Home

A Broken Memory

Let me tell you a bit of my past-
It was not all sunshine and rainbows.
No! It was not, not even close to it
And every time I think about it,
I needed to hear -
"It's okay. "

See, my dad was not like most dads.
There was no father son time I could recall.
But what I do recall is drinking, abusing, hurting, shouting, threatening, running.
The noises would not stop,
The nightmares would not stop,
I was seven then.
How I welcomed the morning was beyond compare,
The dark nights would always scare me
Because the monster under my bed
Was nothing but darkness in my head.
And that the real monster hid inside the drunken man.
A voice said -
"Shut up! Or I'll kill everyone in this house."
Another voice said -
"Run! Keep running and don't look back."
The feeling, of wake up in a different house Everyday, hurts.
The Irony was that we always had a soft spot for the monster,
And no matter what he did.

We always came back hoping this time, just this time
Things will change.

*****

P.S. I wrote this a long time back and I wanted to rewrite it but I believe some things are best left untouched.