I feel beaten down in a beaten town, distracted by what I want to be so badly that I don’t stop long enough to look down.
I’m angry that I lost my childhood to an angry farther and a depressed mother with ptsd, I’m angry that from a preteen I had to remind my brother when my mum is crying worry isn’t something that we need.
I wasn’t aloud to cry, I wasn’t aloud to be shy.
I had to be loud and wild, hide my sorrow in jokes and lies about not being poor and having to take care of my own mother as if she was a sad child.
It’s weird though
Your farther is wealthy with a pool in the yard and two dogs that sit when asked, Buys you what you want even though he is mad.
He’s mad at you for choosing to not leave Mum behind even though it’s ok if I did, she’s in housing commission with a crackhead boyfriend who poisoned her with that same habit that slightly lifted her self-esteem even if it made her even more sick.
She reminded you from time to time that I saved her life and for a while I didn’t understand, Even though I was young and wise I was still didn’t understand the power I had in my hands.
I have my mother’s life.
My brother and farther run off to another state to rebuild the life that was taken by a Botox filled tyrant, I was left here to make sure my mum wasn’t six feet in the dirt.
