Day 2 prompt: write a poem that recounts a childhood memory.
First Fight or Flight
In a stretch I am maybe five-seven, down from eight.
Father was maybe five-two or so. I could say a lot.
Standing near the dining room table the hair on my head
then came up no more than his belt
and I looked up, into his angry gray eyes.
I felt fear and shook from the glare and stare of hate
like I had never before seen from my dad, a mean drunk
who felt no good toward me, and I immediately knew it
in my confused and flustered child mind.
I just wanted to go. To run. To get away. To be safe.
Look both ways at bad memories.
The teachers, fear and pain, reach over the gap of time.
Our Literary Journey 
Oh my… There must be a level that is therapeutic to get this stuff out.
I am ever so grateful I did not have a mean drunk of a father.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just a moment in time. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pretty powerful one…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Emotional scars are definitely harder to heal. 🩶
LikeLiked by 1 person
Healed long, long ago from many things.
LikeLike
Thank you for sharing. This poem hits you in the feels. Well done x
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Melanie.
LikeLike
That is sad. Shame on him.
LikeLiked by 1 person