I tried to find the words to describe divorced parents
So as my hands rested on the keyboard I thought “Middle”
That word fits because I was never allowed to throw one.
You know how when you’re little you think the sun and the moon were following you when you’re in the car?
Imagine being so unable to attach
You believe the reason the sun goes down and the moon comes up is because everything comes to an end.
So, there’s no need to start.
Anything for that matter
But the day my parents used me as a rope in their game of tug of war
They pulled me side to side
Emotionally tearing me apart without a care in the world
They might’ve mistaken my tears as if I was taking score
I wish I could say this was metaphorical
They yelled
“It’s my weekend”
No
“It’s MY weekend”
As I prayed to God that it didn’t matter who’s it was
and wondered if they knew the trauma, they slowly poured into me was finally
seeping in
As I’m reading this the anxious little girl in me is peaking in
In front of everyone
Are you serious?
It’s one thing to live the drama
But to showcase this broken home, is another
I’ll never forget that night, at 12 years old
It was a lot to handle
But I can say for my children, it won’t be anything to hold
Later that night, I couldn’t stop crying
I’m not the only child
So why am I always caught in the middle?
Some say it’s timing
“You went through what you went through to make you stronger”
I call bull
Because at that age I should’ve been learning how to hold a hand stand longer
I should’ve grown up with that same friend group or
that family home that gets passed down generations
But all I ended up with, is attachment issues
And a self-diagnosed disorder that requires me to move states if I begin to feel stuck in places
The blue and red lights flashed on my damp face
The officers asked if I was okay
As the crowd that surrounded us started to erase
Okay? A word I don’t know till this day
But
Only when you’re older you can reflect on memories like this
Only when you’re younger you can pray the future is different
Then again, there I was, in the middle
Not the child, the situation
Not the car, the position
Wishing I was somewhere else
Where parents are parents and not rivalry teams
Where I don’t have to choose sides
Where I don’t make marriage and commitment the enemy
Where reading this poem doesn’t hurt my pride
Where carrying this much baggage doesn’t hurt my feet