Cracked, But Not Broken

My childhood in a few stanzas. How my family pulled through.

I hear the screams, the yells, the angry words,
Like the screech of an angry bat.
They scorch my ears like an open flame,
And slice my heart like a double-edged sword.

I remember how things used to be,
How every word was spoken wrapped in love.
And every look laced with affection.
Now every word is like the snarl of a rabid dog,
And every look burns like the fires of Hell.

They do not know that I listen and understand.
They do not hear my sisters sobs at night,
Like that of a weeping angel.
The bitter words cease in our presence,
But the tension is as thick as smog in the air,
Threatening to choke us all.

But then the air is clear of tension,
Our ears no longer assaulted by harsh words.
And I look into my mother and sister's eyes.
And though we are not whole,
We are only cracked, not broken.

Author's Note

Note that this contains mature subjects such as coarse language and implications of divorce.