when you become the angry man…🌷🤍 inspo: @secret #spokenword #spokenpoetry #poetrytok #poemtok

I think growing up with an angry father means you spend your whole life looking for someone that's gentle. The kind of gentle that doesn't slam doors or make you feel like you're constantly walking on eggshells. When I was little and all of my friends were learning division, I was learning how to study the tone of my father's voice when I got off the bus from school. I could tell before his shoes were off whether I'd be defending myself that night or my little sister. I used to believe it never affected me, but growing up in a house on fire makes you think the whole world around you was burning too. And unfortunately for me, that truly does something to a child. So yes, I look for gentle not because I'm romantic, but because I'm tired. I want someone who doesn't turn minor in conveniences into fatalities. I want to sit across from someone and not feel the need to reevaluate my wording before I open my mouth. I want to exist without feeling like a burden. I crave someone who doesn't raise their voice just to appear bigger than I am. I want to sit across from someone who wants to listen instead of asking what's wrong with me. And maybe that sounds small, maybe it sounds unimpressive. But when you grow up calculating how many minutes come between each explosion, gentleness starts to feel like the only way I'll ever be able to breathe. Not just butterflies or obsession, but oxygen. I want someone who's bad days don't become my fault. And someone who's frustration doesn't look at me like I'm the punching bag. But a part of me believes that might never be in the guards for me. Because when you become what raised you, when you become the angry man, it doesn't matter how badly you crave softness, because it will never choose you. Because no one looks at an angry girl and wants what's underneath. Anger is almost admirable in a man. It's strength, it's dominance. In a woman, it's just damage. So what happens when the thing you were trying to escape is living in your own chest? How do you search for gentleness when you're scared your hands aren't capable of holding it? And it's also ironic. Because I wanted someone who wouldn't make me flinch. I just didn't expect to become the reason someone else might.