“I’ll take care of it.”

Said with a smile and a nod

Meant to hide the resentment growing in my belly

 

But it’s true.

I’ll take care of it.

I always do.

I always have.

I probably always will.

 

I will bear the weight of our mother’s carelessness

And the heat of our father’s rage.

I will play piggy bank when it makes sense

Just to be forgotten when I lack cents.

 

I’ll sprawl my name across your “list of people that owe me something.”

It’ll be written in blood.