it's not that i don't love you. it's the sound of glass candles hitting the wall after my stepdad got so drunk he forgot his name. we were halfway to the hospital that night after my mom stabbed him with a steak knife before he wanted to go back home. it's not that i don't love you. it's the nights where i stayed up scared mom wasn't coming home and i'd wake up with him in my bed. she'd stay out for days sometimes even weeks without a word but everyone knew where she was. it's not that i don't love you. it's the color of crack and cocaine that's burned into my brain. the night my sister crushed up a white crayon giving it to my mom because she didn't have money for more. it's not that i don't love you. it's the smell of alcohol and cigarettes that never leave my side. growing up that's all i knew. it's not that i don't love you. it's the night my mom got shot because she needed heroine. i swear i hear my sisters cries a mile away six months later. it's not that i don't love you. it's the depression pills i take to ease the pain. it's the fact my mom got shot the day after my birthday but i pretend i'm okay. it's not that i don't love you, it's that i do.