Speak

For those who cannot.

For those afraid of what will happen next.

So they hide in their closets with their siblings, telling them,

“Do not speak.”

As dad hits the walls,

Stomping through the house,

He walks in the room and opens the closet door

And as they scream he says, “do not speak.”

He swings his hand and hits his children with scarred knuckles.

Mom is yelling, begging him to stop.

But all he has to say is,

“Do not speak.”

Years later the children are growing up

With a bruise on their body

To match each line that they drew on their wrist

With the same blade their dad used to scare them with

As he yelled out,

“Do not speak.”

But we must speak up, for those who cannot.

For those afraid of what will happen next.

For those who have dreams where they can smell the whiskey on their father’s breath

As their father sang them a whiskey flavored lullaby

Then it all repeats again the next day

The drinking, the screaming, the new additions of black and blue to their skin

And through it all, they can’t even

Speak