Gentle smiles and soft laughs

Only disguise his less-than-gentle

fists

I hear my mother call him a gentleman

And I watch my father shake his hand

Those hands he touches me with

and not in the way you think

My home used to have

Bright yellow walls and perfect

crown molding

Two huge windows

reflecting the blue sky

The walls are a faded yellow

Like healing bruises, my walls display my secrets;

They say the walls whisper secrets but no

Wall would dare tell mine

He keeps me in this chokehold

that I cannot escape

He has my own mother fooled

A gentleman

Is what they call you

But gentle

Is the last type of

Man you are