#dysfunctional homes

I have watched my father break into a thousand pieces, A million times, And I don't know, What it means, To stand up, To watch out, To shut the doors, To say 'No', To fight back, To keep up your shield, And most importantly, To know what 'safe' feels like - That ‘Father Wound’

my childhood In the very beginning, This liquid heart had to learn, To sacrifice its baby face, At the ancient altar of rejection, Innocence shed clotted blood every second, Bittersweet pain stood in the corner and called it unfair, For silent innocence to make its daily sacrifice.

To look in the mirror and say, "I don't see a wound" is like shutting your eyelids to avoid looking at a house on fire and telling everybody that the smoke was a big, fat delusion.