Boys Cause Choas
Glass fell like rain
While my mother’s screams drowned out everything.
My father was,
My father is
A bad man.
When he’d hit me, I could feel the fire behind his hand.
No matter what my mother did,
He was always an angry man.
When his temper got to be too much,
Glass would slide through his hands,
Falling on us like rain passing through ceiling fans.
—This is how I learned to love: dancing in storms of glass.