“an incurable disease”

“an incurable disease”

9.12.21

8.03pm

.

You do not truly love me,

You only say you do to control me,

This is my fear,

That this is true,

And how can it not be?

When even my heart feels unsettled in the moments of silence, those moments that happen oh so very often?

.

In the moments of that instant, I was nothing,

I looked in the very center of your eyes and saw nothing that regarded me,

I was casted out because of your anger,

‘’

But your anger knows of my anger,

Because I was born from it,

‘’

We are nothing without each other, but from every single moment that involves you and your anger, we grow further away from one another, until we forget the others existence,

.

Hello, father,

You are not my father when you’re angry,

You’re someone unrecognizable,

Hello, father,

You do not know how much it hurts me when you speak,

You breathe fire and whip me until I bleed,

Hello, father,

You are not my father when you’re angry,

You are a monster,

‘’

When it’s me and you in that cage, and our anger consumes us in an all-knowing fury,

We do this dance that doesn’t help anybody, but it is what we’ve learned, we are so used to this,

Because my anger comes from your anger,

It is what has plagued me ever since its first carnation, its only gotten worse as days have gone by,

.

Hello, father,

You are not my father when you’re angry,

And I am not your daughter when I am angry,

And brother is not my brother when he is angry,

And mother… is much scarier than either of us, but she is different,

Perhaps because she is mother, and a mothers rage comes from the love of her children, but do not fathers share the same love?

.

We are alike in so many ways,

Our anger, for one,

Our love of violence,

Our hot heads,

I look at it as I would an ailment at times,

And then I blink, and I see a blessing because you gave it to me,

I got it from you,

.

I got your appetite,

And your love of singing, and songs,

And your goofiness,

There is so much that binds us, but when we are angry, that binding temporarily breaks, and we are let loose inside the walls of our own home,

.

.

.

.

I can only hold so much, and the weight of your words are no exception,

I can recover when the damage is done, but my heart is another story,

I’m a big girl now, I can take it all, but I must apologise to that little girl that didn’t have any help, didn’t have anyone standing by her side and holding her hand: “I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave or strong enough to hold you when they were fighting”,

.

We are children, we complain constantly,

We hold onto the past because we haven’t fully comprehended it yet,

We are told that we are to learn from it with the help of our parents and the surrounding circumstances,

But what happens when our surrounding circumstances are not to our benefit, what then?

.

.

*

.

.

Does reality forget? I don’t like to think so, but perhaps, when we are forgotten, it isn’t reality’s fault, but humanity’s.

__

Khat