Make good art
If I knew how to write poems, I would write about the ways you never protected me, the ways you said you loved me but never showed me, and the ways you broke me down again and again and again. If I knew how to string words together like a song, I would sing of the ways that you stole my childhood, suffocated the person I wanted to be, and manipulated my perception of truth. If I knew how, I would scream the story over and over and over again until my vocal chords gave up and it was just scratchy noise because then maybe I could forget. Maybe if I were able to sing or write rhymes or even learn to yell about my pain it would come out like vomit and I wouldn't have to feel it any longer and I wouldn't have to drown any longer and I wouldn't have to crack any deeper and any other possible metaphor for sadness and pain and brokenness you can think of because that is what I feel. Deep down under the layers I've built you've broken me so deeply and all I want is to rid of the pain you've caused because I am better and I am stronger than you have ever believed me to be. Your nastiness spreads like weeds, your manipulation haunts like a ghost, and your words echo in my head like an empty room.
For a long time I focused on the things that I cannot do and I am now learning to instead ask "What can I do?" And just the other day, someone very dear to me spoke the words straight into my heart.
"Throughout what your father did to you, you make good art. Throughout your pain with your ex, you make good art. Throughout your joy in your marriage to Ian, you make good art. Throughout what your family is still choosing to do to you, you make good art."
I cannot always make the art I want to make. But I can make good art. For me. For my soul that scratches inside of me begging to be loose and free and not trapped in the cages I put around me.
Make good art.