Something’s Off

By Ashleigh Hatter


There is something
 pressing
       urgent
       desperate
about
the way you speak to me.
And I don’t like it.
It reminds me
reminds me of that time when Daddy pushed me into the bathroom,
crying,
saying to “hide from Mommy”, saying he had to save us from Mommy.
He’s in jail now.
Mommy is buried.
I miss her.
I hate her.
She hit me a lot and was a bitch.
Daddy,
I miss you.
I haven’t thought about it for a long time, but the way you’re looking at me,
all
 urgent
       desperate
       pressing
it reminds me of my dad.
Is it that important? Is it
so very very immediate that it requires that look?
Because I don’t like that look. It’s the look he gave me before he was gone forever.
Daddy is in jail now, because
Mommy is buried.
And I shouldn’t miss her, and I don’t, but I do. Even though
she hit me a lot and was a bitch.
I still miss her. The only Mommy I’ve had. And I miss my Daddy, and the way he looked at me before he was thrown in jail, before he told me to hide so that he could
 “save us from Mommy.”
So, please don’t look at me, all
desperate
       pressing
       urgent
unless it’s that important.
As important as my Daddy and my Mommy and the bathroom where I hid.

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