At The End of The Day

Blame, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, feminism, forgotten, fuck you, Future, home, Hope, Humanist, Journal, no trust, Personal

Who does Bryan think he is? To come downstairs and start raising his voice at me in my house, on the one day I have off from school and other activities.

Sure, our house wasn’t clean, but I was going to clean it. I made a To Do list and cleaning the whole house was on there..

But instead of rationally discussing the fact that there was a dirty pan on the stove and the floor could stand to be swept, he yelled at me. He threw something across the room and saying “go ahead and run away” as I packed up my things so I could do my homework in peace.

On that note, I shouldn’t have to fucking worry about being able to do my homework on a saturday when it’s just me there with my moms boyfriend. I shouldn’t have to think twice about having to come home when it will just be him and I there. He can’t control his temper, he has anger outbursts. He spanks kendra out of anger when Riley and I have expressed our discomfort with it, when we have talked to our mom and told her how we feel.

I shouldn’t have to feel like my mom won’t listen to me because she will automatically take sides with Bryan. She doesn’t hear what I have to say, or she does but she doesn’t care that her boyfriend makes my life uncomfortable. That he makes me uncomfortable in my own home.

I am valid in feeling like my mother’s boyfriend should not raise his voice at me when I am alone with him. I am valid in feeling that my mom does not care about my emotions when she sides with him. Just because my mom does not agree with me, just because my mom does not hear me, just because my mom is choosing to stay with a man who has hurt all of her children, does not make my opinions, feelings, or ideas invalid.

At the end of the day, I am just a sixteen year old who wants her mother to care about her.

At the end of the day, I am just a sixteen year old who could really use a parent with good judgement.

At the end of the day, I just want to feel like someone has my best interest at heart.

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No One Believes Us

Awareness, Domestic Violence, Hope, Journal, Memories, Personal, Poetry

The monster who crept the hallways at midnight,

in a drunken state, blood red eyes, putrid breath.

He raised his hand, I covered my head.

Silent tears were wept as I heard footsteps come down the hall,

Nervous energy, a dark cloud crept over our home.

terrified children, ignorant children,

but we were scared and battered, thinking no one cared.

How does he still control me? I thought we got away years ago. But I can still feel his hand, right before it hit my cheek.

People, they don’t believe us.

They think I tell lies.

He got to them first,

got them on his side,

charming them with his new haircut, clean shaved,

Telling them he’d changed.

Now no one believes us.

Sent us to therapy, said that’d be enough.

but I lay awake at night, hyperventilating, tears streaming down my face,

just because I thought I heard something coming down the hallway.

No one believes us,

To them it’s just about the money

The lawyers bills and court documents,

it’s just a case.

Children and custody,

Splitting the furnishings.

But at one point it was about a scared little girl,

crying in her room.

It was about the family who had a monster, just behind the front door.