Growing Up in My Father’s House
growing up in my late teens, early twenties
felt like trying to stand up straight
in a tiny box
I was desperate to stand
all I wanted was to push back my shoulders
but I held the weight of the names he called me
of the way he treated me
and it all was too heavy
it was all too suffocating
and so many times I stopped trying to stand
so many times, I decided to forfeit the fight
because I believed that
making myself small is more comfortable,
perhaps this fetal position is all that’s meant for me.
and I almost fucking convinced myself that:
“maybe I’ll just stay here”
that was almost me
Growing Up In My Father’s House
