Poetry

The Blood In These Veins

“Disaster runs in my veins.
From the moment I was created,
I became a part of a tragedy.”

Disaster runs in my veins. From the moment I was created, I became a part of a tragedy. I became a victim. A liability. A worthless nothing. With a set of DNA and genes I wish with every breath I take to wipe away from my existence, taking all those awful memories with it. You see, the monster that preyed on me is long dead, yet sometimes, I’m hit with a reminder of what was. Everything that happened. The threats. The lies. The pain. The slurred words, and the hot breath that lingered with the scent of cigarettes and beer. I’m reminded that it was all real. I’m reminded once again that even in death, I cannot escape him. A disaster may run in my veins, but I refuse to let them rule my life.

© Sarah Doughty

Finding home
— a true family —
doesn’t necessarily mean
they are your
flesh and blood.

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2 thoughts on “The Blood In These Veins”

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