Heroes Made to Be Broken

I cried after class when my AP Lit Teacher called my classmate an idiot in front of his 30 peers.

The anger that explodes out of him flashes back memories of nights where my father used that word to extract Godliness out his offspring.

There is too much of a resemblance in the way he details his relationship with his daughters in the same way my father will brag to church friends about how much I love to help the poor, but behind closed doors, he screams at me for caring more about strangers than our family.

It hurts deeply when you are reminded that everyone is human and nobody is perfect.

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Kleptomaniac

you snuck in through the windows I hadn’t barred, stealing all the pen and paper in my house.
Next, you came for my dreams.
a talisman filtering my thoughts,
every waking moment I only see you.
I kept warning myself that alarms should be set up before you steal something important, like my heart.
But I can’t help but feel each night a terrified longing,
waiting to see what you steal next.
And before I knew it
there were no fire alarms when you committed arson
and this fire you’ve set a flame inside me won’t stop burning.