I try to paint the picture for you,
But words cannot depict the vision correctly.
Sitting around the table,
Set only to please you.
It was an act,
Consisting of a happy family.
One that never existed.
Each night, we pretended to be something we were not.
All were poised and ready to defend at any moment.
Because despite all the hiding,
And concealed emotions,
They were always there.
Raw Onions in the dinner table.
A knife in each hand,
Ready to chop.
Eyes stinging,
Nose burning.
Voice wavering.
One wrong word,
One plate unfinished,
And slice!
The tensions we tried to subside become so thick,
Not even the onions can compare
To the layers of war
Waging throughout the house.
