~
Refraction
Love passes through
And changes
Direction
Let it hold sway
The heart leans toward catastrophe
In the blue headlights
Of parenthood
Mom and dad
Suspended from a pivot
Their offspring
Asleep on a sunbeam
~

I don’t get it—
how people run to their parents
when life gets hard.
How they’re met with open arms,
soft voices, safety.

I used to dream of that.
Of running to mine,
of hiding behind them like a child—
because I was a child.

I wanted to cry in their arms,
to fall apart
and be held together.
But I never could.

There was no softness there.
No arms to catch me,
only the weight of silence,
the sharp edge of being too much.

So I ran.
Not toward them,
but away—
as far as I could
just to find peace.

Grandpa looks at me,

I feel that he loves me, but --


who is he really?

he didn’t peel my orange,
I let tears shed down my face,
I’m not supposed to be sad,
after all, it’s just an orange.

a sweet and sour fruit,
the color of a prison jumpsuit,
I think I need a parachute,
to rescue me into absolute.

I don’t notice anything else,
just the fact that he refused,
but I stop to think and realise,
that maybe I need to be defused.

all these problems climbing up,
rushing in from the *****,
when a sweet turns to sour,
and something snaps inside.

Why am I filled with smoke,
Why do I feel this way,
Why am I so dependent,
It’s just an orange anyway.

so I start slowly,
taking the skin off,
piece by piece it falls,
and it reveals something sweet.

suddenly I understand.
To peel someones orange,
means I have to peel mine first.

I didn’t really know how bad it got, and usually I do.
I tend to keep to myself and stay in my room.
It didn’t look like that this time-
no, it slowly evolved.
There was no sudden switch with all of my body involved.

I don’t smile anymore while drinking my coffee,
and every day at 7:30 my mom asks what’s wrong with me.
I say nothing, that’s just my face,
and try to reassure her that my feelings she mistakes.

I sit with my family and join my daughter in pretend,
oddly, everyone treats me like I’m standing at the edge.

Until one morning my dad gives me a drink,
talks about renovation plans and asks what I think.
But I don’t care, and I don’t know why he’d ask.
He tells me he’s scared I’ll be like him,
and see life like an empty glass.

Which was weird, we never talk that deep-
but he noticed the change in me,
so I had to admit defeat.
I’m no actress, never been in a play,
but I thought I hid my sadness well-
that it wasn’t infecting my day by day.

But I’m a fool, so that’s really no surprise.
Now I really have to heal,
since it’s reached my family’s eyes.

before he left his father's house for the last time,
he went to the kitchen where gray winter light
filled the room through a single window

he leaned over the table and smoothed his fingertips
along the wood, attempting to ****** from the soft,
sentimental pine all of the names, the numbers, that

had graced its' face, those who had drawn his
father's attention, if only for the moment, and for
a while he searched for his own name until suddenly

he withdrew his hand as if scorched, realizing some
things are better left unknown

he never learnt to fight back
he never learnt to give up as well
he climbed the mountains
with a weight on his back
he jumped from the mountains
and into the valley
but still survived
living a life
with no place to die

i recall the last words
he died fighting bravely in the war
a child born under dark clouds
you were never the problem
i hope you rest in peace
i hope sun shine bright in next life
so go descend for the heavens
and may i never lift my pen again
to write atrocities committed
on the name of love

he is not cut out to live with all of this-
to live while bearing the scars
countless of spears in his chest
yet still breathing
blood all over the floor, returned defeated
every time he went on the war
with a hope that someday a savior will arrive
bearing a sign of peace and not bruises from a father

he collected all his hopes, dreams and wishes
hid them under floorboards of his room
letting them all rest in darkness
while burning in fire that comes from loss

he collected everything he had in himself
every star that was showed him
and when nights begin to bleed memories
they all rose back like ghosts in the fog

he collected every last bit of innocence
it was no longer the way to live
he must abandon the house he lives in
in order to fight something that isn't his

he told his child version to stay quiet
listen the voice through the cracks
silent all the voices from under floorboards
and rest in peace if he can't run away