Rotten memories

Glass breaking.
Doors slamming.
Yelling.
Staring at the hurricane in my home
I just stand still
what could an 8-year-old do.
Except stand and watch in fear.
My dad would throw things at everyone
I think it comes from the fact he played baseball as a kid.
Rotten since day one.
He puts on a shell, a cover to hide the rotten underneath.
The shell he shows to people to make them like him,
Yet underneath that rotten stands out like a sore thumb.
I couldn’t understand then,
I thought he was good, clean, a good father.
I was very, very wrong.