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I am every single woman that my dad has ever hit.
With battery acid in his gaze, he looks down at them, spits
Tell them the hatred he feels because he is lost
Running from a love --my mother- who he had lost more than ten years ago.
I am those women,
Those seven, or eight, or was it ten
I am every single one who clutch his leg
Beg and beg
And spout affection as if it were on a sale
And they needed to be rid of it
I hate them because I see myself
Asking for him
Pleading him....
Those Please don't leave me's
Become please don't leave me again
In my throat
Where I gurgle with them
And spit them out as tears when he is not there
I wait for him to leave
Then claw at the things I've never told anybody
And shove them in my mouth,
Where no words live
Only fears and insecurities and
The loathing of the very people
That I was supposed to call mother
The very people that care for me more than my own
Who would wash my clothes and feed me the remains of greasy chips
Burnt to a form of death in the deep fat fryer.
As I watched myself fatten from their meals,
My eyes pleaded that they left
I thought that if I did not see them again
I would feel less beaten
Less pathetic.
I know that my father would never hurt me
But I also know that he might as well.
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