stop, crying.

the anger runs in my family, a chicken with no head
blood cauterized from the temperament, it doesn't get its fuckery
on our nice shoes so we forget about it.

i hear my niece call me auntie and i want to cry
in the struggle neck deep, crawling from the gutter
sprawling, attempt the attempt to keep up
she looks like me, six years old screaming.

we all feel bad when we do it. no one means to.
hurting each other, the most effective means of
communication from Mother to Daughter

"Stop" yelled on the tip of a young girls lungs,
hopefully they will hear the deeper need, in between
the dry syllables and drenched coughs.

there is no diplomacy. should I just leave?
You are a part of me. We.

"Do you want a smoothie?" I ask.
I can't complete this cycle. I want to lose.