dinner

tw: implied abuse

my family dinners are cold and distant 

with the facade of being intimate. 

the most tense form of family fun was spent 

by me avoiding eye contact 

and my father sighing to fill the silence 

that lay heavy on our dinner plates. 

Firmly gripped knives to cut our anger, 

steely forks to stab our woes, 

my heart bleeding on the plate

I watched them eat it whole. 

I can feel the disappointment from my mother 

radiating in waves. I knew my punishment was coming, 

for not putting on a smiling face, 

and laughing with my eyes far too wide, 

so they’d be too dry to cry.

No. I would not give her what she wants. 

I will make her sit in her guilt. 

I will make her sit in her rot. 

Let the whole family fester, in how rotten she’s got. 

When she asks if im okay, 

I do not fall for her trap,

far to many dinners, I've stuck to the sap.

already she knows what I wish to say,

from the tears blurring my gaze.

and my hands that shake

as I dry my face.

she tells me not to ruin dinner,

yet she knows I heard the hateful words she said 

because she didn’t try to whisper. 

my emotions are expressed in energy, 

my anger just exhaustion, 

my tears just sleepy eyes. 

I bow down to her challenge, 

I don’t tell her I wish she’d show me love. 

instead I sit and scrape my fork, 

trying to eat and not throw up.