Family..
Funny how that works, isn't it?
Family are the people who trust to care for you, prepare you for this world.
I walk out of my bedroom to one blow, to another.
"Comemierda" is one of my fathers favorite phrases.
I am a lot like him. My mother says she sees a lot of him in my mannerisms.
You think of your father as the one you can go to when your mother is angry, the one you can count on to always be there.
My father is rough, like the callouses on his hands from a weary day. He is spitting venom with every word he mutters.
My mother is soft, like the sunrise in the humid mornings of my hometown.
There's a lot you can tell in how we act.
The way my eyes focus on the door, wishing, hoping for a way out, on the sky hoping to be millions of miles away from where my feet
are truly planted.
My little brother, so hostile but simply trying to keep his head above water.
We are no family, we are ghosts.
These walls are a cemetery, holding the bodies of who we used to be.
And in these late nights, these sleepless mornings I think
Maybe someday, someday I will be gone. Far, far away from who I used to be.