Stepfather

I sit quietly
feeling the
emptiness of
not knowing enough
not being enough

I am the empty shell
of the pecans
my grandma used
to crack open and put
into her pecan pies.

The shell
which once protected
and provided space
for the pecan to grow
is of no more use
once the pie making process
has begun

The nutcracking begins early
in my life

The tree that is my father
is dead

The branches that are my mother
have fallen to the ground
and I with her

My shell is already
vulnerable when he
picks up my mother
and grafts her into
his trunk

His grip on me
is tight
squeezing out my innocence,
cracking me open
to get to the part of me
that isn’t yet ripe

The part of me
that isn’t ready to be
part of his tree,
much less
his pie

He ate me anyway.

Comments

[insane mama]

I have not read this before today. Umm, can you PLEASE come here so I can HUG YOU! Thank you for sharing such a "deep" part of yourself.