Some people should not be allowed to be parents. I can feel the pain in this.

“spent a few years
at the bottom
of a bottle
turns out
you can drown lota things
but demons fuckin float.”

Penned with brutal honesty, 253. I concur with Fia. The stanza above has a lot of fucking bite, I can definitely relate to living in a bottle most of my life. Thanks for sharing your story. Appreciate you.

Damian

This raw spill poem punches like a professional boxer. Each word is a bloodied and brawny fist, smashing its mark, square in the face. I absolutely concur with both, Fia, and Damian. Also, I do hope you see and realize the one and perhaps most important fact here: Your children do not fear you or cringe when you’re are near. You have effectively recreated the cycle of abuse. Thank you for sharing such a painful write.

Clay