Ink On The Skin

I wish I could go back ten years ago Trapped in endless tradition, under impossible expectations I would trade the hard swallow, and stinging hot tears, for a scream I wish I could go back fifteen years past and shove that quiet submission down your fucking throat, shake off the grip of borrowed religion, and finally scream I wish I could go back twenty seven years ago To when your hands laid claim on my body, Taking what was never yours, hollowing me into nothing and just scream I wish I could go back thirty four years ago new to this world, lungs full and unbroken, a body untouched by harm, fierce, resilient and never stop screaming

In another world, my mother doesn't meet my father. In another world, it is softer, kinder for different people. In another world, my mother lives in a cabin hidden in the mountains, the creak of a rocking chair, the smell of baking. She wears soft blue jeans and old, faded flannel shirts. She smiles at her chickens and lives slow by a crackling fire. In another world, my father doesn't meet my mother. In another world, it is softer, kinder to a sweet little boy. In another world, there is no screaming or alcohol. My father finishes top of his class and makes it to the moon. In another world, he strums his guitar while coffee brews. Rain falls softly, and it feels like home. In another world, I exist only in their dreams. In the smell of rain, in the warmth of the sun. I twinkle in the stars and curl in the steam of a hot cup. I flicker in the lightning bugs and rumble in the sky. I am the soft, warm wind in the chime of music I am in the sparks...