Who are you?

Did you ever for one minute consider me -
For one god-dammed minute?
Did you ever think about all the nights I spend hours slaving over magnificent masterpieces of meals
Or were you too consumed with your dysfunctional mothers' boxed-up macaroni and cheese -
that she maybe made you one or two times
when she was a happy drunk?
Did you ever consider the cost to me carrying your children?
My stomach burning
My eyes on fire
My head fumbling to understand your "disease"
Did you ever think when you had your dick in someone else that my breast was lodged in your daughters’ mouth,
giving her substance
Something you have never had or ever known.
Did you ever wonder if I would leave you--
other hands caressing me and comforting me and loving me through the chaos you created
This fucking life that just won't stop
That never stops
That just keeps ramming me in the head over and over and over again
Driving me completely mad.

Did you ever consider that I am dying inside and out
That I wish the world would stop.
Trees would stop blooming
Bees would stop stinging
Children would stop singing
Everyone would stop asking me
Are you ok?

NO

This is not the life I planned or dreamed or thought up or imagined
You are not the love
You are not the boy with big green eyes
You are an animal
A maniac
A menace
A torturer
A disease
A tick
A dick
An asshole
Why?
Why!
Why?

If I could remove your every gene from my children I would.
I would bleach you out and remove your stain.
I would forget you.
I would kill you.
I would not let you destroy me like I am nothing.
I would not let you see me cry.
I would not let you know that I am suffering.
Who are you that I should love you in the space that I love you in?
In the wound?
In the wound the will not heal?
That will never heal?
That breads like rabbits?

You are your mothers’ son.
You are your fathers’ son.
I just have to watch now -
So that your son will not be your son
And, your daughter -
She will never be your daughter.


I wrote that on a bad day in the rush of emotions of several minutes. Not the worst of days, but one of many bad days in my 7+ year relationship with an alcoholic.