Dear Mom. Dear Dad.

A spoken Dharma piece from the Monk Mode Society Rooftop Spoken-Word Dharma series.

This is a letter.
A reflection on what gets passed down, what gets carried, and what can stop with us.

It speaks to pain, family, memory, children, parents, and the cycles people inherit without asking.

This piece is not here to shame.
It is here to tell the truth with compassion, clarity, and fire.

Some will hear it as a mirror.
Some will hear it as a warning.
Some will hear it as love.

Either way, the point is simple:

what we do not face can keep moving forward.
what we face clearly can begin to change.

Transcript

Dear mom Dear dad Some of us were born into homes Where love came late and fear raised us first Through yelling Through glass breaking Through the sound of a whole house changing The second your keys hit the lock Some of us sat by windows Waiting to be chosen Some of us got chosen And still got hit Some of us got a house And still had no home Some of us were little girls Curled up in the dark Praying our father was too drunk To come down the hallway And not one soft place To fall Dear mom Dear dad A child is not where you empty The bottle The pills The words that were said to you A child is not where you send To keep living Some kids in this country Raise themselves Some make dinner For their little brother While you disappear Some sit in their room Listening to you fight Like the walls are taking sides Some know your paycheck Better than your voice Some got everything Except your presence That kind of hunger Does damage too Dear mom There are girls in this country Sleep at home Is not always safe Sitting still in their own skin Like maybe stillness Can make evil pass by Too heavy for a young mouth There are boys in this country Full of hurt And nowhere to set it down Boys told to toughen up While something inside them Is already breaking Boys nobody held long enough Boys nobody saw clearly enough Then everybody acts shocked When the grief comes back What a body count Dear mom Some children stop talking Some start cutting Some start drinking early Some go missing without leaving Some start praying to death Before they even know what life is And some of us Got blamed For things we did not break Pushed out Before we even had words For what we were carrying Some of us grew up Owning Some of us made it Not because help came fast Not because the pain was small Because something in us Would not fold I know some of you Were drowning too I know some of you Got raised rough Raised scared Raised wrong I know this country Works people Then tells them to go home I know addiction steals faces I know poverty eats patience I know pain Can turn a human being Into a dark room Pain is not permission If you want to break the cycle Look in the mirror Before you look in the crib Face your hunger Before you make your child eat it Face your grief Before you hand it to your daughter And call her grown Before your son wears it Like me Because this is how suffering moves House to house Room to room Bloodline to bloodline Looking for a small body To live in A child is not supposed to survive you And if that sentence cuts Good It was supposed to Dear mom Dear dad I love you Do not forget your children I love you