i sometimes wonder how scared my brother must've been
at midnight
at the age of seven
when a man that he was forced to call father, the same man who i had no choice but to,
would come into his dimly lit room
and take all of his anger out
just because he
felt like it
or
my brother was somehow in the wrong
or
really any other reason he could think of
and i wonder,
mostly because
maybe my brother did the same to me
because he could never look me in my dad's baby blue eyes
and see anything but the hands that were around his neck
but then again, i never find the time to ask
YOU ARE READING
the girl who cried ink
PoetryNo one listened, so instead of speaking, I wrote ranking(s): #61 quote
