Years

Twelve years old.

That's when I first heard it.

The harsh arguments,

words swinging hard,

sucker punches that left scars.

A reminder of nights with no escape.

Thirteen years old.

That's when I noticed the whiskey.

The blood shot eyes.

The silence.

The silence was worse than the yelling.

Because silence let the monsters in.

14 years now.

My mom left for a while.

Her absence is felt in the entire house.

Abandonment is a cruel thing,

especially when left to hands that left red marks.

When she came home, the damage was done.

15 years old.

High school was a great escape

from the weight of my home.

Theatre was so I could live a different life.

Choir was to cover the yelling.

Performing my poems was to give myself a voice.

Sixteen.

Divorce.

Years of marriage down the toilet.

Drowning in the hurt that choked off hope.

A sheet of paper.

A scribbling pen.

Something seemingly simple,

a life changed for good.

Skip ahead.

Twenty-two.

The divorce left its wounds.

I still drown in grief sometimes.

The tidal wave consumes me.

I hang onto the life raft,

trying desperately to stay afloat.

Their broken love.

It affects me for life.

But I am older.

I am twenty-two.

And I will learn to swim.