Why Not

Designs

// mentions self harm, domestic abuse, LGBTQ+, and depression. Sorry//

  My colorful design. I've traced the line around my wrist. They all say it's bad. But mommy does the same thing.
  I come home from school. Another black eye and more bruised ribs. Apparently this time it's for being a faggot. I don't even know what that.   means. I just like girls.
  Mommy is laying on the floor. Another bottle downed and more tears to fill her ocean. Her sleeve has been lifted. More designs on her arm.
  I sit beside her. "Mommy, I'm sorry." I say to her bloody face. Daddy hits too hard.
  I go to my room. Mommy said it helps if you draw. But I don't wanna draw. I need to design.
  I look in the mirror after I've designed my body. I'm a boy in the body of a girl.
I cut my hair. I smile. Haven't done that in a while.
  Daddy rushes in. He is mad. I don't know why. He hits, and hits, and hits. Mommy cries and tries to fight, but daddy hits too hard.
  More bruises, more blood, more tears.
I come from school the next day. More designs and bruises. Mommy welcomes me, she has her mask on. Her big smile tries to hide her designs, but I've seen too much in this little home. If mommy can, I can too.