I was four
The first time
I saw
My father
Get drunk
And beat my mother
This happened
For many years
And I repressed
Most of my
Memories
He went on
To beat my sisters
Years later
Always drowning
Himself in alcohol
Never feeling
Remorse
Repressed memories
Returned
I saw him
As he truly was
I’m supposed
To be a man
Like that?
This is the man
I once wanted
To be?
What kind of man
Am I
For wanting
That?
I don’t want to be
A man anymore
From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.
James Pack 