There was a child, neglected that couldn’t find her voice

Growing into a woman that nobody could hear

Becoming an addict that didn’t want to speak

Living out a story, that nobody would see.

I have spent ten years, spinning a dream between my hands, yelling at the silence “these are things you cannot take”

He would bang heavy on the door, screaming for my innocence, this is something he already had, but persevered to drain.

I would mark the walls with emptiness, counting until I lost a reason to count. Once I was fighting for hope, but when it never came I listened to the silence, I welcomed the silence.

When time passed I faced opportunity, and I collected places.

I stole maps, searching for a mathematical solution to imprisonment.

Escaping oppression, once a goal and now accomplished, I face freedom, so I thought.

I never really left that room, I still live there.

Excuses swam in my head, threatening to break my sanity. Excuses, confessions, ideas, experiences, blame.

I never spoke because I thought no one would listen
Until they gave me a pen

And I wrote not because I wanted to be heard, but because I needed to speak.