Mirror

I call out to you
Every time we fight
You can't hear me though
You're too busy screaming
At me

I write you a message
Within my cuts
But you don't bother checking
My legs, my wrists. You're busy
Watching my medicine bottle

I sing a song to you
Hidden beneath my music
But you're critiquing it, so
You don't feel the pain
Within my lyrics

You try to reach out to me
To touch my hair and say
"I love you"
But I'm too busy hiding my face
To pay attention

You say my name
Trying to make me open up
But I'm busy running away
From you, so I don't hear
You

You hurt, I cry,
But we're too busy arguing
To notice that the person
We spend our time fighting
Is just a mirror

The Thought of Fear

I recently wrote a poem that alludes my father to 'the man called Fear'. I think it's very fitting, because if anyone ask me what my biggest fear in life is, I would say, without a doubt, that it is indeed James Frank Jacobs. I'm not scared that he'll kill me, I'm just terrified of him taking away everything that matters to me in my life. My music, sense of security, privacy (it's a dream in foster care..), my sisters and nephews, my newly-found addiction to learning to play and sing at the same time, and well, everything that I've known to be true. Yes, Daddy isn't exactly an ideal father, but he's been there, telling me how to live, for 13 years. I can't just leave that and expect everything to go away. All the fights, lies, deceit, blaming, everything. It won't leave. I don't want it to, either. It helps me see through the future lies and things that I know people will tell me.
I can't imagine a life without Jim there. I can't picture an era in which some piece of him doesn't remain inside of me. Maybe it's in the form of a knife, glass, a drink of water when I'm parched, or a hug. I'll never really know.
But Jim still terrifies me. He's every waking nightmare, every drop of blood. I can't even begin to explain that kind of fear. I say constantly that he doesn't scare me, cannot control me. But he can, and he has. He still does. Nothing either of us say can take away the years of fighting and threatening. No words can take away the scars and blood. It's just a part of me, and I can't-won't-get rid of it.
Yes, I brought most of the hardship on myself, I understand that. But that doesn't mean I don't tremble when I'm alone with him. That I don't clench my fists and stare at my covered legs, hoping that he doesn't see my pain. I can't stand not knowing what his motives are, why he's acting like nothing ever happened. No apologies, no resolution, just another concert. But this one is his concert, not mine. I'm just the second most needed role.