Family

Perhaps the miles between us all these years
Have created more of distance
Than I previously realized
And perhaps
in the business of your own life,
You've become ignorant to the facts of mine.

There are no victims in my house
Only survivors, and your judgement has no place here.

The world doesn't care if your poor feelings get hurt.
And there are bills that need to get paid even when you don't want to go to work.
And there's plenty of work to do outside of punching a clock. For some people the work never stops.

Every person on every street has a story to tell.
A painful little personal hell.
That you can never know, or understand completely.
Because it is distinctly, intimately, their own. 
It's not yours to judge, or take ownership of.