You watched me grow with a violent face.
Standing in my way, biting your tongue.
Restraining yourself, the tense muscles.
I felt your eyes on me, your judgement.
Your disapproval. A vulture keeping
A mouth on its offspring.
I remember the mockery in the angle of your mouth.
The glistening gaze, transferring pain.
From your body into mine.
I moved and you fired.
And as we were running away from your predictable outbursts
Or hiding somewhere or raising our fists
To protect ourselves, you still had the nerve
To perform your self-victimisation,
Calling us names, pointing your fingers,
Cursing us, burdening us with your crimes and abuses.
I lived in your house of madness.
Amongst the ghosts that your body produced.
Alongside past selves of mine that I buried over the years.
Skins shed too early, constantly, renewed, because I had to survive you.
I had to grow, outgrow, adapt to your tempers and insanity.
I slept in a bed of dead selves, holding on, mourning, constantly.
Never understanding who I was.
All I was forced to do was fight you, keep you at bay.
And I changed several times a day.
You drained me and recharged yourself.
You made me so that I could feed you.
You wanted someone to starve for you.
Someone else to keep you alive.
Someone else responsible for your life.
No matter how many souldeaths you’d cause.