Varshitha Peddada

Classics Crime Tragedy


Varshitha Peddada

Classics Crime Tragedy

My Home

My Home

2 mins 419 2 mins 419

I didn't realize how much burden,

I'd been carrying on my head,

Until my mother ran her,

Fingers through my hair,

With a sad smile on her face.

I noticed the bruises on her hands,

They almost turned into purple.

My father comes home drunk every night,

And beats my mother.

I yell at him, to defend her,

And he ends up beating me too,

Black and blue.

His bare hands did damage to me,

More than anything else could ever do.

I run upstairs, to my bedroom,

Sobbing and overdosing again

At the dead of night.

I bet opioids are gifts from Gods,

To take away our misery and suffering.

But everything gets worse,

When reality sets in,

Like a wave of tsunami.

‘Girls aren't supposed to do

Things like this.

You are a disgrace to me

And to this family’,

He says and hits me harder

Than the last time.

But he's oblivious to the fact

That I'd started taking drugs

Because of his violence.

I let his violence get the better of me.

My six year old brother

Hides in the closet.

My mother tells him that it's a game,

Just like hide and seek.

She asks him to hide,

Every time father comes home.

My home is torn,

A broken place,

To even call it a war zone,

And my brother doesn't know it, yet.

Do you know that there is a good chance

Of me repeating these;

Abusive patterns and cycles?

I keep warning you

To stay away

From me,

Because it's hard to break out of cycles,

When all your childhood memories,

Are filled with abuse and trauma.

So the next time you see me,

Pointing a gun at you,

Don't expect me to drop the gun.

Don't assume that I'm just being paranoid.

Stab me instead, kill me,

Before I do something wrong to you.

Run, run for your life

When you notice the

Gasoline bottle in my hands,

Because that's when you know that

I'll burn down every house I walk into.

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