I don’t think I’ve ever felt my brother’s love until his fist collided with my face, stomach and back of my head. I don’t think I’ve ever heard his silent pleas for help until he screamed, punched, and fruitlessly kicked his way away from someone who who held him telling him they loved him.
I’ve got black eyes to prove my loving gaze at someone I spent seventeen years sharing a room with, someone who grew his hair in apathy letting death leak from his scalp in curly black locks, someone who came crying to me in times of trouble, who never thanked me when the comforts were had, is sincere and unconditional.
The pathetic displays of adrenaline filled war screams are the only things I hear lying in my bed at night. Furious grips on lapels, vengeful shaking and bodies slamming, being thrown into car doors fill my dreams.
I couldn’t shed a tear
I wouldn’t fight back
The minor bruises and would-be-concussion fade
I wouldn’t shed a tear
I couldn’t fight back
The major commitments and could-be-kinship fade
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