My trauma makes me argue with men as if I am fighting a war for all the women who have no voices to fight with /when I am wrong /when there Is no war,
my kettle boils over without a flame /there is so much anger inside of me
and I fight.
I have seen my mother’s eyes glaze over in numbness too many times.
I have hidden myself in so many places I sometimes forget to come back out of /the world still rotates.
I have counted the minutes until I have to face despair on a beaten woman’s face /
there are so many minutes in a day and yet not enough in-between wounds.
I think of all the ways I could leave if I have too
when I’m in a healthy happy marriage
and I know the unhealthy one is me.
Hide money underneath mattresses,
although I think my husband suspects but lets me do it anyways.
Plot my moves in case he leaves me /where I would go /what I would do next
all while he’s beside me watching TV
like its mandatory homework,
but I graduated three years ago.
He doesn’t know I have a suitcase packed upstairs ready to go if he even looks at the word abandon the wrong way.
My mother said never trust men.
Live in a box/live under a bridge/live in a shoe/ die of starvation/die sick/ die alone
but never trust men.
And the normality of my thoughts never shock me.
I feel like an abandoned animal at the shelter barking at hands trying to show me affection.
And the world screams daddy issues,
but forget it took a grown man to create the anxiety wrapped around a damaged frame that doesn’t know how to put itself whole again even when people are stopping by with their tool bags trying to help.
Sometimes I don’t want to become a mother
because i’m scared I won’t know how to raise happy children
I never wanted to have a daughter because I didn’t know if I was strong enough like my mother
to teach a little girl
how to not cry when she is not loved by the other half that made her whole.
How am I to explain that men were quick to get into a woman’s hood but slow to raise a woman
but I find myself buying dresses for a little girl I don’t even have
and wonder if my mother’s only trusted friend was me