date: 3/20/2008
time: approximatly 10:30

dance(since that's the only thing we can do as a family)
by: lavender brushes

it's three in the morning...
do i know where you are?

i presume that you're
pretending to come home from work
even though the scent of whiskey and rum
/l i n g e r s/ on your clothes after a long day's work
and you stagger into our apartment building
humming an unknown tune very loudly
and slowly but awkwardly, sway to the music

you continue this path, unknowningly to my room
and i hide underneath the covers
trying to sleep,
once i hear your footsteps
hopefully, you will ignore me this time
walk past my room
and dance alone this time

but you don't.

within the darkness
i hear your voice,
telling me to get up,
to dance
that sleep is a waste of my time
i use the excuse that i have plans
yet, you know that it isn't true

and we run to the kitchen
and laugh at the awkward dance moves
that i make
i told you i can't dance.
and you laugh even louder.
it doesn't faze you as you spin me around in a circle
and the pots and pans bruise my arms
i cling onto you very tightly, telling you not to let go
since my life depends on it
and yet my fingers slip away
and my head bangs the counter top
i begin to laugh and cry at the same time
while you just continue to smile and bellow out a laugh too
loud for my ears and too quiet for mother to hear
i close my eyes and hold on to you tightly again
whispering for you to never let go of your only child
and tears come to my eyes
you tell me you'll never let go
though i heard lies slip through
as i smell the whiskey on your breath

you grab my wrist tightly
and i scream in pain because i'm too weak
to handle it
and your fingers slip from my wrist

i fall on the cold, hard kitchen floor
and hear a crack sound
coming from my hand
and i'm in excruciating pain.

i cry in pain now
and you walk away
shocked that our dance went wrong...again

i should be used to it
our dances sometimes are worse
i had to go to a hospital a few times because of our dances

broken legs, bruises, concussions...

and i get sick of it
because i know
i have to lie
about all the scars i recieve
and you forget about everything we've done
and about me once you

head out to work early in the morning

i walk to my room slowly
and stretch out my hand
in hopes that it will numb the pain
hoping that it would feel better later
go into my bed
shut my eyes
and succumb to darkness

i love you
i just hate that alcohol has pulled us apart.

:.:author's note:.:

inspired by the poem "My Papa's Waltz" by insert poet's name. this poem has a similar subject matter and a similar feel to the original poem.

Yes, I had a Panic! At the Disco Moment when I came up with the title, speaking of which, their titles are getting shorter with each song, I'm used to "Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off", not "Nine in the Afternoon". Well, they still rock, that's all that matters.