Of queens and pawns

She tried to turn it into a game,      
making it even more hurtful      
when even my 7 year old self      
understood enough to know better      
yet still longed to play, anyway      
Eventually it was time      
to fully dismantle,      
taking whatever little hands could carry;      
it sparked flashbacks—      
how the four of us      
had dreamily done this...all      
Been made to throw away      
or told to leave our favorite things behind;      
a child should never      
have to make      
for themselves      
Confusion and blame—      
intentionally misdirected,      
manipulation was air      
that we breathed deeply of      
Increasing panic surged      
at every turn -      
the longer      
and further away we drove
from all i ever knew as safety      
i remember my sister crying,      
swearing under her breath,      
the other was stone silent—      
frozen as a statue,      
while i tried my damndest      
not to get car sick.... again      
Calming down, an attempt to self soothe—      
was crawling into the back      
of the wood paneled station wagon,      
squeezing eyes shut,      
borrowing underneath      
my cherished blue and white plaid      
raggedy Ann and Andy sleeping bag;      
a hand-me-down from my big sister      
(i can still feel it's warm center)      
hoping from my 'fort'      
that someone would stop us      
Stop her      
Lulled by the faint monotonous sounds      
of miles ticking by;      
cheap tires hitting the interstate      
in that rhythmic road trip way,      
growing wide, the distance      
our routine lives      
our hard fought happiness      
our day to day normalcies      
But mostly it was about      
perceived payback,      
where inflicting      
the greatest amount of pain possible      
by stealing someone's heart      
ripping it the fuck out      
without warning,      
was some kind of perceived      
warped justice      
for a life      
where even being queen      
would never be enough      
Maybe because she knew      
how we pawns would always,      
always come first      
... and how dare us.      
Written by Bluevelvete
Published | Edited 22nd Apr 2023
Author's Note
I once asked my dad why he put up with this from my mother, who technically kidnapped his kids (for weeks sometimes, with zero mutual permission or warning) whenever life didn't suit her, knowing it grossly impacted us, leaving lasting, deep scars. He paused for a bit and then quietly said "I tried my damndest to love you all as best as I knew how." Flawed and as fucked as that answer was, it was unmistakably genuine, just like him. We're all imperfect; painful childhoods are a dime a dozen. I include my own in that sentiment & mean no disrespect to anyone who's had it rough. I just think we all have work to do in getting over harsh pains of past hurts, no matter their origins. So, if offered and wanted, I learned it's imperative to bask in true unconditional love without argument.
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