Monday, June 13, 2011

some days I just want to scream. what do I do with all of this? all this pain and fear and anger? with all these memories and scars... and wounds? I didn't deserve even half of it...

I remember not distant enough screams
smashing glass
deafening chaos
followed by
silence that shattered

I remember hiding
trying to disappear
pretending I never existed

can’t tell you how often
I wished I had the power
to uncreate myself


I remember holding in my arms
a shaking child
his tears soaking my shirt
as I rocked and hummed
trying so hard
to hold it in
and not fall apart

I remember the pain
the loneliness
the inability to speak
or do anything about it
the feeling of being a helpless child
needing to act like a together adult

and now I sit here tearing up
blood stained and urine soiled carpet
with the smell of horror in my nostrils
patching holes punched through dulled walls in rage
scraping pealing paint
adding a layer of fresh color
with waves of memories crashing over me
with a sickness in my stomach
as an adult trying to make this hellhole
into someone else’s dream home
God I hate being here

I wonder if they’ll be able to sense
the pain that haunts this house
beneath the freshly painted walls
and newly carpeted floors
the rooms cry and scream
I cry

I cry for all the secrets I’ve kept
and continue to keep
for all the pain I never stopped
or even tried to
for what happened in silence
in the deep of night
that still goes unknown
to all but three

I really hate being here
revisiting hell
over and over again
but finally this is the last time
one more coat of paint
to this tiny room
and I can leave it behind forever
as only a memory
only a memory
(if it could ever be only that)

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