It was when he’d come home
my insides would shrivel with dread
knowing the eggshells grew thinner
with each new walk I took
Maybe a new hole in the wall
or another possession destroyed
More pictures discarded
because he wasn’t part of that memory
And I wasn’t allowed to be angry,
or hurt, or anything that wasn’t a smile
So, I’d lie.
I lied so much it became normal
to say “I’m fine” when really,
everything was wrong.