May..
Torn between shit happens and this can't be.
Its not an easy or comfortable balance but it would of helped us get this far so isn't all bad. When to just stay out of it and when we had to know what was coming next. But it was so hard to know any truth without noticing all the rest of it and that meant knowing the difference between safe and unsafe, between being cared for and nourished and being systematically abused. It was crippling and still is, it was to much for a little body and brain so the pain has been spread out over our whole life.
I can see them nodding as I write that. Can see them mustering their best hateful, objectifying gaze down on us and the decades passing and our body ageing our mind adapting to every injury while the power stealing stays exactly the same. The self conscious little boy in daddy's shoes hate and focus staying the same. The world burning around them but they don't shift their stare at all their entire will centered on making sure they didn't see more than the simple hate patterns that they hold as in place of a system of values.
Oh Daddy.
They can't keep getting away with this so many good people are being hurt or killed. Too much good stuff is being stopped. When they keep as apart and won't let us speak I'm so scared of what they are doing to you and what they are doing me I'm scared they make us hurt you or you hurt us.
Anything we said about him or about anything they would train other kids to say and act. When we couldn't speak we were very hungry and cold we had to stay away from people but we were getting weaker and weaker and so thin. Good people would try and help but we couldn't speak.
When they saw our Daddy identify us by our singing voice they hit that hard and trained up the others. It was the kind of thing we didn't buy much, they wanted us to feel responsible for everything they did to hurt us and others. Often it wouldn't be our dad anyway but they would force us to pretend but we couldn't always do it.
..pretend the ones that arnt are dad are and pretend it isn't when it is.. That will kill us both. But we found ways of communicating, secret languages that we had to keep changing. Getting close always resulted in being further apart but we were dying without him if our mum wasn't around. It was just horrible place and people followed by more horrible places and people. We wished so much that he wasn't our dad and hated that some of us had been convinced it was true or cared because then we wouldnt have any hope and would die or fade away into drugs and sex and fakeness.
Our mum hated any of that talk and would show and tell us how much more we were regardless of who we are, what is done to us or what we become.
We are worried about him. We don't know when we really talked to him last. Its been impossible. We are scared he is lost and its been hidden from us to keep us down, confused and broken. The shit they pull and the surveillance we are under but we know we can match it and also that we can't save everyone and it gets all too much for anyone with a heart.
Well.
No bastard is here. I'm reasonably certain of that.
