The Anger~A poem

My hand shakes trying to unlock the door
and my arm trembles under the heap of clothes thrown over
and you walk up those stairs and scream

My head hits that door not once, not twice, but three times.
That’s a memory that never leaves…

I didn’t clean the litter box that day
and I didn’t put that rice in the fridge for dinner later
and you screamed, and chased me around the house with that burner

You swiped twice and hit third, that same pattern
On that third, that blood poured from the inside out,
and I stopped loving you
and held my nose together trying to piece back the skin that was ripped

and I cried hard
You begged me not to tell, not to speak, not to make a big deal out of anything

So I went to bed
and let every tear go,
and decided
to stop Loving you,
my mother...