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medicine
I whisper to my mom;
"do I look more like you, or daddy?"
daddy looks mean
he's only nice to the medicine
the medicine that keeps him going
through the long nights
the long nights that he thinks about me
and dreams about coming home to me.
he dreams of what I could've been
if the medicine wasn't the only thing that kept him going
with my arms over his shoulders as he hugs me
and tells me I'm his savior
from all the bad things
that have ever looked him in the eye
if i
was the only thing that kept him going.
he sits on a leather couch that I imagine
is covered in beer stains
covered in tears
from the night before
he decided that I wasn't worthy enough
and that the medicine was all that he had been wanting
forever, since I've been here
I am no stranger to medicine
I've been to the meetings
I've talked to the survivors
I've felt that pain
I've seen that pain
I've seeked that pain
I've lived that pain
that he lives in everyday
it is not impossible
if you want it badly enough
if daddy wanted it bad enough.
I ask mom that dumb question;
"do I look more like you, or daddy?"
i hear no whisper back from mom.
she is silent.
and I know the answer.
I am nothing like him.
Copyright ©
Layla Sweigart
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