An old house
Day 22
Vines wove down the wall
in spirals
tearing into flower beds
Standing here again
before my old broken home
it's more weathered
than i remember
The kitchen windows is gone
the cracks in the door
splintered
memories of this place
hurt
and nothing got better
I'm sitting on the porch
of my debilitated childhood home
remembering
It was a shitty childhood. I lived in a beautiful place, with a bad home. My dad was and is an angry person. He never hit me but he's hit my mom. I've told her before that because he's an abuser that he'll do it again eventually. But she always said that he was the love of her life. Or she'd make excuses. It makes me sick to my stomach.
On paper, they have money but in reality. They don't have working toilets ( outside of dumping water into the tank ). They don't have working laundry. Hell, the house doesn't have walls because he gutted them over twenty years ago.
Everyone has two sides to themselves. Im not saying my dad is all bad. I find it really hard to care though. I just see myself at his funeral – upset because I don't know what to say. He could of had a great life. He could have had so much if he had let others in.
He'll be known for being a funny, smart and hard person.
A fucking waste.
Sorry for being scatterbrained on this post. Just damn, if you do have parents that are sane. Love them. Because mine are going downhill. fast.
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