"A Daughter Who Spoke"

Content Warning: emotional abuse, alcoholism, suicidal imagery.

Like cigarettes fermented in coffee
he poured me out onto the gravel.
He swung his lucky lager like a bat
until he passed out, drunk on the toilet.

He poured me out onto the gravel,
and spat lies of loving words
until he passed out on the toilet.
And I bared his image like a bruise.

I spat lies of loving words
while he held a rope like a noose.
I bared the image like a bruise
and I kept the words, “I hate you!” to myself.

While he held a rope like a noose —
cigarettes fermented in coffee.
I kept the words, “I love you!” to myself
as he swung his lucky lager like a bat.

✏️ Author’s Note

I chose the pantoum because of its cycle — the way it circles back without ever resolving. The repetition mirrors what it was like living with him: unpredictable, but always repeating. Other forms like the sestina or villanelle felt too final, too structured. This poem isn’t about closure. It’s about how trauma lingers in loops.

There’s an emotional build in this piece — a quiet rise in intensity. When the rope appears, the weight shifts. That’s when things feel like they might change… but don’t. The final lines drop us back into the beginning — familiar, but not the same. That’s intentional. The cycle restarts, but the speaker isn’t untouched. The poem keeps moving, and so does the damage. And still, somehow, I kept the words to myself.

🔁 Redraft Trail:

No redrafts yet.
What happens if you change the image?
Break the repetition?
Tell it from the rope’s point of view?

💬 Contribute Your Voice:

What lines echo for you? What form would you use to speak back?

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