A putrid stench

I can smell it from across the room

when I'm about to kiss you

it stops me in my tracks

I push

you away.


Rotting cabbage

my fingers after I've rid them of polish

as if you were suddenly

a repulsive memory

of things I attempted

and somewhat succeeded

to forget.


Banging on my door

it shakes


or it felt like to me

I hid in my corner

under the blanket I thought could protect me

didn't make a sound

silent tears

rivers never-ending

while the voice I had learned and been taught

to love

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)

couldn't compare

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.