Hatred and loathing, expressed by both

They keep tugging back and forth, and I’m the rope.       

Anxiety at it’s highest when they are in the same room,

For me, it feels as if there is sudden, and ultimate, doom.

Back and forth every four days, 

sometimes drives me into a craze . 

When it’s time to switch at 9 am, 

sailors rope forms heavy knots, 

 anchored at the bottom of my stomach,

Blood forcefully pounds in my head,

My breath going 

Faster, 

Faster,

 faster. 

We carry many bags, me and my brother.

School bags, bags of clothes, whatever we want to bring over,

Anytime we go from one house, to another. 

Leaving belongings at one house is a common thing,

As in such a panic of leaving, you forget what you need to bring. 

As I carry binders, bags, books and more,

There’s always so much, I tend to drop everything before I even approach my car door. 

All this remembering, and switching after 11 years,

 Becomes quite the chore.  

Holidays and birthdays are a chaotic mess.

Everything has to be jammed in all in one day,

The terrible tension of figuring out the schedule, where and what to take,

And presents received seem to be a competition on whose was best.

The guilt of after celebrating, leaving the other as me and brother drive away,

And by the end of the day, your stomach isn’t twisted just because of all the cake.

An underrated point of high anxiety is being with one parent in public and seeing the other. 

Blood pounds sonic speed, and pray I can stop the shaking in my hands,

And through the adrenaline high,

Plaster on the most fraudulent happy smile  possible, as if my body isn’t in utter panic. 

 And when seen,they always just address me and my brother.

They try to keep things under wrap, kind of behind our back,

With all their calls, texts, nasty, awful kinds of retorts and attacks. 

And you can’t forget those occasional side remarks about the other

Like, shut up! we know you hate them!

And don’t get me started on when you mess up,

Because then you receive comments, like  “oh, just like your mother”.

And as I drive across town on the switch day,

Each finger on the steering wheel shakes, the entire way

And isn’t it funny, how every time we switch, 

The clouds are always gray?