I don’t know if you’re still alive.
Do you even care if I’m still breathing?
Yeah, you taught me a lot of lessons.
To cause me everlasting pain was their meaning.
I needed a strong father figure but instead you gave me a strong hand.
Definitely not a strong helping hand, but one that knocked me down…
Again and again.
I remember coming home from school, trying to get away.
You were sitting on the steps to the porch and I could tell you were in a mood.
High, eyes red and probably didn’t sleep all day.
“Come here boy”, I heard with a cringe.
I approach head down, submissive waiting for the moment you’d come unhinged.
I must have not said “yes sir” quick enough. Or was it too meekly and too quiet like a mouse.
The words you told me then I’ll never forgive. “You’re just a guest in this house”.
And I’ll never forget the times you’d beat me for things from a drunkards mouth.
If I was lucky you’d only just grab the paddle, you know the one you cut out from the siding of grandma’s house.
You’d grab me violently and tell me to drop my pants south.
That’s not even the worst. On the days you were angry I’d have blood running from my mouth. And lets not forget all the times you choked me out.
Your hands would squeeze my neck like a noose and I’d pass out. Wake up on the ground, look around but too afraid to move about.
I wasn’t a person or a son, just a punching bag for you to use. Someone to raise your voice at, intimidate and shout.
All the physical abuse couldn’t compare to the emotional though.
You in the carport, gun barrel in mouth. This scene all through the eyes of only a twelve year old.
A drunken argument between two adults and suicide romanced.
.357 Smith and Wesson revolver in hand.
You shouting “I’ll kill myself Stacee, do you understand!?”. Showing no fear, I run down the wooden steps and grab your hand. “Don’t do it Dad, I love you”.
That’s what you meant to me at age 12.
I know I didn’t mean shit to you then, now at 32.
Darren Deason 01/10/2020
Phoenix From Words 