They talked to me daily
Their normal, every day thoughts
I took refuge in my room
To escape their gunshots
With weapons drawn
Their words pierced my eardrums
Their screams were like battlecries
Demonstrating their pain and pride
Enduring every bullet,
Every grenade
I kept a box of batman band aids
In my pocket
My powerless voice shaking
“Stop it… Stop it…”
I know
It seems childish
But I was a child
And they are my parents
Now, as an adult,
I’ve inherited
Their words
Their weapons
I’ve multiple gunshot wounds
To my head
I have to protect others
From what I could’ve said
My words are better left unspoken
My words are keeping me dead
Sticks and stones break bones
Words as weapons break souls
Second read, tonight. Growing up in a stunted environment helps us develop a hunger for the divine in all of us. I guess I just didn’t know what to say, after the first read. You have a strong soul.
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