From Your Daughter

you scream at me. through dry wall the vibration of your voice sends me into a wide awake coma. stuck between these four walls keep closing in on me no where to run you yell more. my baby no born from my organs is crying. a few days old and he knows the anger his father, my father, that man shows. desperately asking my mother to run. at only four years old i can feel the fear creeping up my neck it whispers in my voice things a child shouldn't know. come sunrise, my mother lays awake with sheetrock in her hair. peeing through the crack in my door hoping the monster is no where near. my mother is limp and my baby's diaper is soiled. this is not a home i cry, and cry, and cry. this is not my home. i can hardly wait to leave this place. a few years older and that anger has grown, taking shelter, waiting to rise again inside of me. burring, holding it, deep inside of me. its twisting and chewing at my insides turning my into a human tornado. my baby, my brother. fully grown. so joyful, so happy, so outgoing never let the anger inside of him. shinning his light the anger found home inside of me. the envy in my heart is breath taking. i wish the true owner of this anger would come back from the dead and take what is rightfully his. please take this from me, i do not want it anymore. i am not myself. you took do much from me and this is what you leave behind. an angry child. i am sorry for the world to experience me. for the first time i feel sorry for myself. my head hangs lonely. the violence causes silence. in my head you are still fighting. in my head you are dying over and over again. what's in your head? peace? calm? you left behind an angry child. you left behind a broken mother. the storm you brought, sucked us into. destroyed me. you are not dead. not yet. i wish you were. i now know evil doesn't die that easy.