The; Excuses; &; The; Letdown

LET'S BE PUNCTUAL.
don't mess up.
you want to get your ass whipped.
you stupid little-oh hi hunni.
horizontally my head i shook.
pass me a light.
turn the channel.
all the exhaust from this flame.
just make sure you inhale.
i shook my head in shame
Saturday night.
hey where are my heels.
with pointed finger to the closet.
there she had checked.
and damn their absence.
not my hair.
another night of advils being my bestfriend.
i won't even scream.i wont even squint.
schlepping never tickled my fancy.
but if it would make her happy.
it couldn't really harm me.
now it was Sunday.yes sunday.
they day i would rejoice from the top of my lungs.
and cry because i wanted to.not because i hurt.
and on Sundays boy was she nice.
i would never run on sunday if she held a knife.
and i didn't hate her because she was hurt.
more than i could ever understand.
and she tried to handle things as best she can.
at least that what we believed.
because thats what my grandparents would rant.
but they didn't know what lied beneath they're goodbyes.
and to the extent our bruises held or magnitude.
so to blame them would be the worst thing i could do.
and on sunday nights.she said her sorries and weeped.
and every single time she let go of a tear.
it would wound me deep.
and this made everything she did in the week ok.
because today we repent and we gather, loved, and prayed.
monday morning..ah a dreadful sigh.
by the end of the night i know that.
i would be begging god to take my life.
but i better hurry for my eye be a new.
accessory for school.pretti black and blue.
then she would scream.
LET'S BE PUNCTUAL.

by jasmine margetson

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