Born and raised in a broken home
Not broken in the sense that I didn't have a mother and a father, because I did
Broken in the sense that I never got the attention I needed
Broken in the sense that I was never properly supported while I grew up
I couldn't talk to my dad for fear of being judged
Fear of being told I'm wrong and that what I was feeling was unnecessary
Not broken in the sense that I was beat as a child, because I wasn't
Although I suppose depending how you look at it, verbal abuse is still abuse
Broken in the sense that when I stand back and look at them now, I know my parents should not be together
I see how sad my mother is and yet she still sticks by his side
I see how he treats her and how it ruins even the brightest of days
The countless family dinners that turned into arguments
The swearing and the yelling all sounding like far too much to that of an 8 year old
Time and time again we were made to feel like outsiders, fighting our battles all on our own
I was born and raised in a broken home
A home that I would not want to subject my own child to
A home that I still cannot fully escape and I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to
A home that I refuse to mirror because I know I am better than that