I'm Sorry Dad

            I fear my sleep, for what my memories will recall "No Dad please, I didn't drink it all, no Dad oh no get off my chest, please dad please do not hit me" When the battlefield of hate sounds better than enduring your nightmares, when the truth will never be told due to others denying raw fact. "Dad  stop spitting in my face, please Dad please, I cannot breathe" Yet when told of the truth, their faces cringe in disbelief that I would tell such a lie "no Dad stop, I did not mean to tell her, don't hit me as hard this time Dad, it won't happen again" silence is easier, truth held up. "Dad what is this brownie, and this green leaf cigar, Dad that is good, where did you get it Dad" to announce a past that is constantly denied, they make you out to be a blind man in a seers world.

            "Dad let go of Grandpa, let go of his throat, no Dad, let go of me Dad, don't start to spit" to turn around with a mirror that takes and refuses to give, absorbing your image and leaving a skeleton of fear and pain. "Here Dad, take my pillow, you are sick on the grass, it must have been those needles and blue bud cans in the back of the car" gash in my breast yet no one can see, a falsified scar that refuses to breathe. "Dad please stop driving, you just drank a pint and that other man is yelling".

            "Here Dad, here is the money you wanted, can we split a 40 Dad? Dad, I only took a sip, why are you getting in the car Dad? Let me out Dad! Let me out!" Until memories become documentaries, to be put on the shelf never to be watched. "Dad why do I need to stay in the car Dad? And where did you get that money Dad? Dad why is he yelling at us Dad?" then the pain becomes so great that you do not understand it yourself. "Stop hitting me Dad, I didn't mean to drink that much, I cannot breathe Dad. . . I cannot breathe with your knee on me Dad. . . Please Dad. . ."

            When do I get to speak my side? Why am I discounted my right to tell a story that makes me fear my sleep, that makes me break into a sweat at 3AM and force me awake and in tears. When will I be heard for what I have to say rather than what I have said? When am I allowed to not be okay? When do I get to be heard for my pain. "Please Dad, I didn't mean to tell, just don't hit as hard Dad"

Reviews

[cassandra ziemba]

wow, this a very emotional write. I'm sorry. i cant even to begin to describe the emotion that this story makes you feel. you have a talent, that's for sure. i hope things get better for you.