deepundergroundpoetry.com

my family, ain't no family

 
 
 
in brutal honesty  
those tablemats
are a crock of shit
 
as well as the  
outdated carpet
catching every lie,
secret all swept  
underneath it
 
before the house  
it was a vechile
we called home,
 
i couldn't count
every stain and
busted window
it collected up
until the end
 
some of you
may know this;
others may not
know about it  
 
but it was shit
i mean. really
fucking. shit.
 
there aint nothing  
poetic about a father  
coming into your space  
while you're sleeping
peacefully at night  
 
or watching him
lash the crap out
out of who you  
believed to be  
your mother
 
(around the time)
 
who may i add  
didn't do much
to make things  
better either,
 
perhaps she
was scared
 
financially  
co dependent
 
trying to feed
two mouths
 
while resenting  
me for being  
the product  
of an affair,
 
i could go on
with an endless  
list of excuses
but whatever
 
she still didn't
improve anything,
it got no better  
as i grew older
 
dealing with her
late night club
& pub drinking
 
(still do because
she's a miserable
fuck who never  
improved much)
 
having to lock  
my door in a  
brick house,
 
bequeathed  
by my late  
great uncle
 
to avoid this  
drunk karen  
drama going  
on with her,
 
beaten up at  
a few family  
birthdays  
 
as transphobic spew
leapt out of each  
relatives mouths
 
brushing past
my shoulders
as 'tranny'
echoed in
each room,
 
couch surfed
because it all
got too much
due to each
reason above,
 
it takes strength
to close my eye
during the night
 
to understand  
there will be no
more stains or
busted windows,
 
something  
i wouldn't call
human no longer  
making shadows  
over my walls
 
my family
aint no family;
 
this is all
living proof
 
that blood holds  
no permanence
if it doesn't live
to align with you,
 
those sturdy
tables and chairs
turn into crock  
of shits too.
 
Written by _feral
Published
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