A putrid stench
I can smell it from across the room
when I'm about to kiss you
it stops me in my tracks
my fingers after I've rid them of polish
as if you were suddenly
a repulsive memory
of things I attempted
and somewhat succeeded
Banging on my door
or it felt like to me
I hid in my corner
under the blanket I thought could protect me
didn't make a sound
while the voice I had learned and been taught
screamed words I'd never heard
but knew weren't pleasantries.
My father and spirits didn't quite mix well.
I was afraid.
I watched my mom grow
ragged and weary.
Her closet seemed to only contain
black those days
her makeup skills seemed lacking
or maybe she didn't try.
The heart attack could've been caused by anything,
said the doctors.
Was I the only one who
knew my mom didn't eat fried food?
I think the time I'd almost drowned in the pool
When I was seven
(which I still remember all too well)
to the feeling that
I was about to be torn to shreds
by the man that meant the most to me.
And I came home tonight and smelled that God-awful stench
On your breath with your scruff
that I normally think is sexy as hell
But now is repulsive
That's why you find yourself out on the snow.