Taking a Step Forward

since i can remember, the words i always heard were: "i can't" and "not now". my father was a drunk and the first 17 years of my life, he was a blur, passing in and out of the house like a ghost. my mother with her short fuse would throw the nearest object in any direction, to add action to the pain. one day, she couldn't find the remote for the tv and started tearing apart the living room. throwing pillows this way and that. my father sat there with a beer in his hand laughing to himself and infuriating my mother. who in turn started throwing items. lamps, pillows, and chairs, anything she could put her hands on. then a lamp flew in my direction and i ducked. there were two crystal candle holders on the coffee table, candle holders that were given to my parents for their wedding, and i saw it all happen in slow motion. the lamp hit both of them and they fell to the ground, shattering on the hardwood floor. i looked over at my father, as my mother stood there foaming at the mouth, and i saw a lone tear roll down my fathers cheek. his heart broke along with the crystal and my mother walked out of the room. at a time when my parents should of been teaching me the ways of life, i was a witness to chaos.

throwing things became a way for our family to communicate, my brother once hit me with a lamp in the face because i kept talking aloud to myself. i had a black eye for several days. there are several pictures of me when i was young, alone, out on the steps of our house, or ducked in a corner sulking, to my parents it was always funny, they would take pictures and laugh at me because i was feeling bad. they thought it was cute that i would take things so seriously. i had no idea that the way i was treated then would determine the way i dealt with pain now. i had no friends as a kid, and the ones i did have, would usually stop coming over to our house for fear that they might be hit with something next. eventually i started building small fortresses in the back yard with cardboard boxes, mostly just sitting inside reading, or drawing people on the walls and talking to them. it seemed like a much better alternative, here i could be alone, and nobody could make fun of the cute goofy kid with glasses and a crooked neck.
its funny how things never change, even when we grow up, we're still those little ankle bitters running around never breaking our old habits.
i then learned that it was up to me to do the things i've always wanted. i rebelled hard and fast, not fearing consequences if only i could feel a little fear running in me for just a second.

there's a good heart beating in here
but it always seems
like no one is ever ready for it.
and i can't force those feelings
in someone.
for me,
it's i can
i will
and i have
and i will continue to do so.
not everybody is alike,
that i understand.
but maybe it's much easier
to walk away
while the cut is fresh
than to let it bleed out
too long
and it will never heal?
if you don't play the game
and sit on the bench
you'll never get hurt.
but you'll also never
celebrate
when you hit the ball
out of the park
over everyones head
and into that girls heart