Tales of a Family that Fights
The air in there is thick and stale
With the still-lingering residue
From past arguments
Hanging in the air
Like mold on the walls
Reminding us we aren't as happy a family
As we sometimes wish we were,
And sometimes I swear the bags under my eyes
Are more red than black
From all the time I spent
Wiping tears as quick as I could
So no one would see them fall.
If you listen closely
When the floorboards creak
You can hear the echos of screams
We threw at each other like knives
Aimed straight at the heart,
And if you're lucky the trees
That guard our prison cell of a house
Will whisper stories of when
We kicked at their trunks and hung our heads
To hide the weeping.
The walls have memorized every insult we've spit out
Following the family recipe
Of hurtful words mixed with a pinch of fire,
And I can see the windows shaking with fear
While we threaten to break them
And use the glass to cut each other open
In search for the peace
We simply can not find.
Now I must bite my tongue
And not speak unless spoken to
On the off chance I'll spill our tales
Of a family that fights.
Haiden Tauzell enjoys poetry, digital art, and creative writing. You can find him at his tumblr, alienmess.tumblr.com.