how to read a room
before I know how to read a book.
before learning how to turn the page,
I knew the signs of my father's rage,
I learned early
how to disappear
without leaving the room, stay near
before learning who God was
I knew there was no power in my mother's prayers
I learned to read
between the lines
of scripture, the hypocrisy, the warning signs.
I'd bow my head, to play the part
If there is a God, he broke my heart
I thought love meant guessing
what would keep me safe.
My parents didn't protect me
I called it love anyway.
I learned to smile
How to hold it inside
Before learning the tears
I learned the anger of my silent cries
I Smiled with my teeth
and kept the pain in jars.
I wear so much armor
Just to cover up these scars
Years passed.
I became the person
others mistook for whole.
I said "fine" like a practiced prayer.
But this is getting old
--Radiant R., Adult