It was the 2 a.m. phone calls
The denial
The fierce anger
Turned inward
The suicidal depression
The “everything’s fine” attitude
The implication that there was
Something wrong with ME
It was the pungent smell of
Jack Daniels
The shame
As I emptied the bottle
Down the kitchen sink
After he’d passed out at the table
Again
It was the broken promises
The broken dreams
The broken life
The hollow devastation
That I could share with no one
It was the embarrassment
The “What’s the matter?
Are you ashamed of us? ”
That kept me from bringing home friends
At school I was the outsider
The loner
The four-eyed brainiac
With the whiskey-soaked secret
I couldn’t let anyone in
As much as I longed to
Or the crying would never stop
It was the slurring
Proclamations of love
The vows of
“Never again”
The empty promises
Made at 2 a.m.
After I’d stopped
Another ugly
Screaming
Knife-waving fight.
Once, in suicidal desperation
I went to tell the priest
Broke down in tears and fled
Before uttering a word.
I never heard from him again.
I could have killed myself
For all he knew.
Turns out
He was dad’s best
Drinking buddy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A poem of immeasurable sadness. It must have been very difficult for you to pen. it. Anger and tears are apparent in every line. You are a fine wordsmith. Warmest regards, Sandra