My parents are called distant and desperate
Distant doesn’t understand and never will
he does things to make a point rather than to look after his daughter
he speaks with no words, just aggression
and eats with so much appetite
it spoils mine.
Distant plays life like a game rather than a journey
every question an interrogative
and each answer a tactical statement.
I am often left on rhetorical questions.
Desperate has desperate hands that shake
hands that hold bottles of wine to keep them steady
she is a wonderful mother
she tells me she loves me every day and makes me cups of tea
she calls me sweetheart and kisses me goodbye.
Distant has worn desperate down like sugar to enamel
Growing plaque along the ridges
and breeding bacteria to chew at the teeth
Desperate can’t cope she
is more seashell than sea creature
a house rather than a homeowner
a cloak rather than a body.
Desperate is tired, weak and poisoning herself
and she is a wonderful mother
Distant doesn’t believe in mental health
and tells me he can’t cope with my illness
because it makes him angry
he denies my existence
telling me my love is a phase
and my gender a weakness
Desperate is understanding and then confused
and tells me she can’t cope with my illness
because she hates seeing me so upset.
She is always too drunk to listen to who I really am
and then gets upset because she doesn’t know who I really am
I am angry about it
I am writing about it.