"My Days Take After My Skies" Series Part 2

"My days take after my skies" series part 2

One day I noticed

One day I noticed,

When he walked in, I did not hastily clear out the table and make for my room. I stayed sat on my chair, square, looked up at him, let my my gaze linger in his for a moment and went back to my scribbling. He went about his, mumbling a remark or two in passing.

One day I noticed,

When he asked me what I was doing, I did not stutter and I did not look up, lazily I answered, "Just reading". I felt him pause for a moment, and I heard him puff--was that disapproval I heard?

One day I noticed,

I was not running, I wasn't trying to analyze the sound of his footsteps climbing up to see if he was angry. I did not move out of the chair I was sitting in when he approached so he could sit. I did not close the book I was reading when he made remarks about not wanting his girls to get funny ideas.

"Don't do that." Why. "Don't wear that." Why. "You listen to what I say." Why. "I pay the bills." No you don't, since when. " Girls shouldn't like that." Why not.

I was taking up space? Outside of the safety of my locked room, I was taking up space!? In the house, in conversations?

One day I noticed,

When he dragged my mother into their room, locked the door behind them. I did not grab my sister and run for our room and I did not try to console her. I did not tell her "Ma's fine, she's fine. Shh it's okay they're just talking, like how we are? Shh, It's okay".

I found myself outside that room, fists balled, banging, screaming bloody murder, "OPEN THE DOOR!!!". Bang bang bang. "MA, ARE YOU OKAY!!!?", Bang bang bang. "I WILL BREAK IT DOWN, IF YOU DONT FUCKING OPEN RIGHT THIS SECOND". BANG. (Got myself thrown out of the house for that one x)

One day I noticed,

That I was no longer afraid of my father. I was no longer just sad over the life I was given. (maybe a little bit still, it comes and goes)

One day I noticed, that I was angry. A little of his wrath had snuck past him into my veins, and whoever could've seen that one coming.

One day he noticed, that I was no longer the love starved little girl he could kick to the corner and leave there, because he knew she would come to him if he called her name sweetly.

One day he stood there, a hand raised to hit, when he looked into my eyes, almost the same level as his, and he noticed.

there will be a moment when you realize you are more grown up than your parents are. this is the loss of childhood, my love. it is when you’re standing in the kitchen and one of your parents is screaming about something and you recognize: you will let them win the fight not because you are wrong, but simply because you know that they will keep shouting unless you drop the subject. you expect them to have childish understandings of things. they will hold onto their concept of the world as if it was not a changing thing. they must be right, and they must be somehow more right than you, always, in everything. their idea of control is so necessary to who they are that you just let it go.

this is the moment. you are 11 or 17 or 21. and you realize that you’re more mature than they ever were. 

and in some odd, sad way, this frees you. where they have stagnated, you continue.

I'm constantly torn between the unconditional responsibility of taking care, and the insatiable desire to be taken care of.

Which I personally think is a confusing space to be in.

Words, words, words 👑