Intergenerational Pain
 
I learned silence from my father;
this is the only way he was ever allowed to grieve
 
I inherited my mother’s rage;
this is the only way she was ever heard
 
Numb
There is no doubt about it:
It is easier to think of anything but the grief,
to drift in a constant state of numbness.
The cuts keep coming, but I no longer feel them.
I wear my scars like badges, battle-worn,
yet, truth be told,
I do not remember when they formed—or how.
The anesthesia will fade, eventually,
but healing means confronting the pain.
And who wants to walk down the street,
only to come face to face with their mistakes?
 
The eclipse
If I told you
about the darkness
inside me,
would you still look at me
like I am the Sun?
 
Chekhov’s Gun
In another lifetime,
 
I learn not to carry the hurt 
like a loaded gun.
 
In another lifetime,
 
you are bulletproof.