Turn -upon the week with my mother-

By , N.Highlands, CA
I turn words and thoughts into tears and shame. I turn the once harmless accessories called bobbypins and paperclips to knives that leave the battles still scarred on my skin. Although they may fade, the battles will never be forgotten. They turn my brother's innocence to resentmetn and hatered with ignorance from vile words spoken as he is called, WE are called, out of name. As voices volumes increase, the smiles I once wore upon my face is just a false image, a mask I place where I wish these lips and eyes were stitched so I could not see and cry knowing where the sound is coming from. I fear loud noises and yet welcome violence for the familiarityit brings. I turn hearing into sudden silence by pressing hands upon my face that has heard so much profanity that would turn a sailor into a saint. I turn my shouting joy into silent whispers. I turn people into termites and ticks as their smiles are burrowing deep into my memories and laying the eggs in false impression to bring me the comforts of happiness. I turn opinions to facts as they make their way into my fictionous stories that make people grin with satisfaction.I made the truth I once hid come to life as me dad mow welcomes me HOME with open arms and love in that laughter he rises out of me with his jokes and stories. I turn hate to love and I shall never forget my father.





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