Detritus

Insecurity came with me from the earliest days of my childhood. My mother would threaten to leave us for our misbehavior. We remember the threats she would make. She would go so far as to grab her keys and make it to the door, us children grabbing onto her winter jacket crying Mommy please don't leave us! We didn't mean to do what we did!
She would always threaten to abandon us for the asylum, a cruel gesture to a child.
Or threaten to send us to boarding school, even going to the phone and starting to dial some numbers.
The Dickensian poorhouse was used as a threat,
that we would be the cause of family ruin if we
acted up any worse then we were already.
I am thirty and this is still in my head, and I
wonder, why it always comes back to this?

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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