My Abusive Father Is Beautiful Poem by Christopher Rivera

My lungs breathing in the shrapnel of her screams; I feel more relaxed then ever. My mother is singing me lullabies, her angelic voice making me sick. My father, putting pain in my home, I see beauty through his destruction. A trigger lapses and creates courage in its death. The color of my mothers eyes so beauteous, makes me gag. Lying in dirt seeing blood stains from before my time. I now know I am the son of destruction. My eyes are the color of hypocrisy.