yo soy debil.

i am not strong.

your virulent words weaken me, erode at my calm facade
and little hairline fractures start to
spiderweb over my skin, as my control frays.

my jaw clenches as you spit out mouthfuls of hate,
and your blind rage is consuming you so completely that
you're practically frothing at the edges of your lips,
like a dog. an animal.
no logic, just violence.

your favorite weapon is bare-handed.
intimidation, a need to engender fear;
that eerie, predatory glint in your eye when
you say you want to stab me
and look at the sharp knives in the open dishwasher, as if
inspired.
desiring.
...hungry.

feeding on my fear, and when you reach for one i
feel a shiver run down my spine, even as i beat you and
close the dishwasher before you reach it. suddenly
i am wendy and you are jack, even though
we are siblings not lovers.
any love is eclipsed by adrenaline, as you shout and
i am frozen in place, caught in the headlights.

"Go. To. Your. Room."
as if you were our mother. i wonder, absently,
if she is watching us.
i stand my ground as you move closer, and i want to say
that i am not afraid.

the words are on the tip of my tongue when
your hand comes down on the formica counter beside us
like a thunderclap,
and i flinch.
i flinch, and drop my gaze, and go up to my room,
numb.

you haven't laid a finger on me, and yet
i am broken.

...i am not strong.