The Inescapable Art of Growing Up

I recall my mother lifting her shirt,
showing me the stretch marks spread across her stomach,
like lightning across a cloud, a road map of dead ends.
She said,

“it’s your fault I’m ugly.”

I recall my father splintering the bedroom door,
fist packed full of regrets and insecurity. My mothers
screams transforming him into a child, crying for his mom,
dad nearly beat her to death.
He asked,

“do you want him as a father?”

I recall Paul making a mess of his head
with a twelve-gauge shotgun. At thirteen and even now
I can’t understand. My friends and I buried our childhood
with him.
They said,

“it’s going to be ok.”

Carry guilt like a fallen comrade, can’t let it go
dead weight dragging you down. I’ve awoke at night to
the sound of screams and gunpowder on my breath. We all
make mistakes, we all make mistakes, we all grow up.
I said,

“forgive.”