DAMAGED CHILDHOOD

From the confines of my closet I place my hands up against the wall, feeling it pulsate under my touch.

The cigarette smoke has fried my eyes and I long to close them.

I find I am holding my breath, waiting for something to happen.

Then the sound of breaking glass jolts me back to reality.

I cannot help her.

She’s running past my room, looking for a place to hide.

“Help me” she yells out, but how the hell can I?

I am of no help; my voice is stricken, unable to move, unable to breath.

I sit silent until all is quiet.

Then I emerge; like dawn on a new day, with my mask of nothingness shielding me from the reality of my life; and I help pick up the pieces of her shattered existence and this thing she calls her life.

My life.

Wanting things to be different, praying for strength, for hope, for a miracle that never comes.

Waiting for him to die so we can live again, free from his grasp, free from his demonic looks and harsh discipline.

This woman who bore me lays lifeless on the couch, words cannot reach her.

She is beyond reasoning.

He’s marked her face and shattered her very core.

Her existence means nothing to her, she feels unloved, trapped and worthless.

I cannot carry her; I cannot make her leave.

She will never leave.

Where is my mother?
My tower of unyielding strength?

This man is not my father.

A stranger.

A foreign body laying his hands on my mother, I cannot imagine worse.

I am waiting for the day when all will cease.
That day is yet to come; I cannot foresee it, not for some time yet.

How do you repair yourself when your spirit is broken?
How many times do you think you can run and hide?

There were many houses and false new beginnings, but the cycle remains imbedded in our destiny and once again I find myself crouching in a dark corner with my hands over my ears.

Make it stop.

I see the world through different eyes; eyes of someone who has had no choice but to grow up quickly and harshly.

My childhood was taken from me without my consent, painfully and violently.

It doesn’t matter how I got here, or why.
The fact remains that I am here and I will make a difference.

We are all truly alone in this world, no matter how close we think we are with someone. Be it family or loved one, no one can ever know how we feel inside.

What we aspire to be, who we are, what color our soul is.

All our dreams and all our wishes are secret and private.

Only to be brought out and thought about from time to time.

My mother tells me I take after her, that I have a strong will.
She says I won’t age with worry, but I don’t think she knows just how much she’s aged me…


Sleeping in fear
Feeling your heart pound in your chest
Deafening to your ears
Ice cold in your center

Having your nerves curl up like steel
Making your muscles separate
And let them be known to you

Closing your eyes you see images of hate
The sweat trickles from your brow as you exhale
A breath that feels like fire

Where is your peace?
When will it end?

The questions always the same
As to the answer
Tasting the fear in your mouth
And seeing it behind your closed eyes
Looking for escape, looking to kill

Sizing up your hands to see if they’ll do the job you ask of them
Knowing the horror they can impose
The damage they can do.

Are you capable?
Can you face the consequences?
Is he worth it?

Reflecting back on years gone by feeling old and tired.

Amazed at the life you lead
Surprised you are still here today
Kidding yourself it will be ok tomorrow
But knowing in your heart and soul that it won’t be

Instability, insecurity
Nowhere to lay your head down to rest at night
And know you are safe; ever restless, ever sad
Searching for a better existence

Still hating yourself and blaming many others
Whose fault is it really?
This game we call life is hell on earth
No smiles from within to warm you and keep you sane


Only insanity
And violence
And the stink of alcohol
And death.


© Story Hall

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.02.2010

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