“coming of age with alcoholic parent”

In the house where shadows mingled with the sun,  
I learned to read the weather in your eyes—  
Some days a storm, a bottle just begun,  
Some days the peace that settled with surprise.  
The clink of glass replaced the lullaby,  
And childhood wore a watchful, grown disguise.

I grew to know the tilt of every chair,  
The way the floorboards creaked beneath a frown,  
How laughter sometimes shattered in the air  
Or vanished when the curtains rattled down.  
I held my dreams close, hidden from your thirst,  
A quiet hope I never spoke aloud.

Yet in that longing, I became my own—  
A caretaker, a secret-keeper, still  
With steady hands that patched the ways I'd grown,  
And stitched the cracks with more than just my will.  
For love is stubborn, rooting through the ache,  
Blooming where the stones of memory spill.

I learned forgiveness, first as something hard,  
A puzzle-piece not shaped to fit my chest,  
But slowly, gently, life became my guard—  
The sun returning, asking me to rest.  
Now grown, I see you: flawed and true and small,  
And love you through the rising and the fall.

So if this story weaves into your days,  
Know there is strength inside the quiet pain.  
We build our futures from imperfect clay,  
And morning finds a way to come again.  
For coming of age is lighting your own flame,  
And learning every shadow has a name.

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