Things I accept.

Things I accept.
Passively.
Aggressively.
Sadly.

I will never have sisters or brothers to go grow old with...I will never know what it means to sister whisper or to look into my siblings eyes and feel that connection of,  "here is where I belong."

Not because I don't have any - I have many. There are many of us- the us he created. We're all broken; isolated; fearful; distrusting... Us. The us that can't soften, nor bend ...  Nor reach to one another. That would be weakness. That would be certain emotional ruin. I've breathed that poison most my life, its thickness nearly drowned me. Always pulling me under,  then in ... I barely knew me from her and her from me. Was it me?

The Button.

Truth is - I fucking hated that wooden button. That button was a gash - a bleeding infection that never ceased to ooze its contents onto my innocent hands. No child should ever  have to fucking cope with those wounds... I know this now.  I no longer have the wooden button, I let it go when I let them go.
We were tangled, pitiful... always mourning a childhood we never had. He made everything sick. No one knew - except her, the mother, who was so far from reality at times, I often thought her a dream. A figment of my imagination. Her drunkenness and need for male attention seeped into the kisses she gave me; the songs she sang me.

I loved her still. 
I didn't know the wrong in it all, or know the life long pain it would cause me - cause them, even if their exposure was minimal. He left his scent on us...

Things I accept.
Passively.
Aggressively.
Sadly.

I will never know the feeling of loving a sibling as I love myself.