The Freelancer

Hand of a Broken Home

Angel Red, Contributor

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When a home breaks, it does not split down the middle.

When there are children it is less so.

Not only will their hearts break but the dust shall choke them when it settles.

The parents will scream and cry drowning out the pleas of the children.

You see when a home breaks it does not break simply.

It will shatter like glass that received a hammer.

The safety they thought they had is now gone.

When they wake in the morning to find dad on the couch and mom in the bedroom.

They shall wonder why must they fight.

The figures of pure love have now been flawed.

To them now this is love’s ultimate end whether it shall be known or not.

Their home is now a house and they have two.

And in each visit the attention will be fought for,

Lives will be manipulated, feelings played, pseudo love given, and favoritism granted.

One will spout lies and perjury while the other screams blasphemy.

These are the broken homes.

The children that parents want you to avoid for fear of history’s repetition.

This is what we are.

We are the broken children from the broken families.

The ones with stunted emotions because we had to turn them off to survive.

That blame ourselves or each other and made mistakes.

Still looking for the stitches to mend our home into one again.

We are the broken children.

From the broken homes,

Envious of the perfect lives,

Hoping that one day we can give what we never got.

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The student news site of La Serna High School
Hand of a Broken Home