when I was a child, they called it discipline to raise a hand against me
it isn’t abuse
there are no marks
no scars
you can still sit and your lip isn’t split
it’s just discipline

maybe if you didn’t run your mouth
stick your nose where it doesn’t belong
lower your voice
obey, obey, obey
maybe then you wouldn’t need a switch, a belt, a bare hand

when I told another adult
they didn’t even blink, just suggested maybe a harsher punishment would help
the thing is
I didn’t learn discipline
I learned hate, resentment, and fear
I learned to hide, to bend, and to pretend

and now
when my child is too loud
to unruly
throwing a fit
exploding with emotions too big for their little body

I raise my hands
to hold
to hug
to usher into a time out
because the thought of causing pain to end pain
to lash out, to control
doesn’t feel like discipline

it feels like abuse