The Child's Perspective

The imagery echoes in brain,
Never stopping and no gain.
Same thing over and over,
But no matter what there is no closure.

I see the hand in the air,
The rapid breathing as you glare.
You snarl and scream but with no purpose of resolution,
You just want to be the only version.
I remember hiding in a corner,
Watching as she defended her daughter.
Watching as fear left her body but remained in her eyes,
Watching as everything shattered that night.

Things were thrown left and right,
I was crying with my eyes shut.
All I begged was for it to be over,
But it didn’t stop until the days were darker and the nights grew colder.
I thought covering my ears with such pressure,
Would allow me to feel better.
That way I wouldn’t hear the obscenity’s in the screams,
Or the smashes of everything.

The next day was always quiet,
But I hate this type of silence.
It’s what you hear after the war is over,
Though celebration isn’t in order.
Things happened that you can’t take back,
These memories haunt me and remind me of the attacks.
I can’t help but flinch to any loud noise,
And get anxiety regardless of my choice.

I kept it inside as long as I could,
When I was alone at night I would let it loose.
I cried and cried until there was nothing left,
But I still felt ache in my chest.
Until one day I hit the end,
I thought I was better off dead.
I thought I was just a problem,
And my mother didn’t need another.

But I was too much of a coward,
And my hand behind the blade held no power.
I was too hurt to even end it,
And I believed living would serve as my punishment.



The absence of something is just as powerful and influential as what could have been there.

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