A house not home.

This is the story of a friend of mine. She grew up in an abusive home, totally devoid of any actual love. She’s come a long way since then, but I thought I’d share this in case anyone has a friend in a similar situation, or has been in one themselves. You may be able to empathize, or at least know that someone else has gone through a similar experience and come out okay.

8.15.10

.

A girl’s Poem

.

We are the forgotten children

.

Act I: A Mother/A Place

.

We live in the world

And we are exhausted

We’ve played and we’ve tried

And this game we have lost

.

We long for an answer

.

For a place to find the truth

A place to heal our youth

A place to rest and smooth

.

Mother is the name for God

On the lips and hearts of all children

But our mother is no god.

Mother is of the prince, a demon.

.

We long for deliverance.

.

For a place to cry our tears

A place to speak our fears

A place to spend our years

.

We looked at her and bright young eyes

Were opened wide in shock and pain

As her hand destroyed the boundary of our face

As the god of childhood became a devil

.

We long for a savior

.

For a place to come undone

A place to have some fun

A place to hug someone

.

Red welts, deep bleeding cuts

Nothing to what we feel inside

With every blow and every scream

More of us is killed, may not return

.

We long for new life

.

For a place to lay our head

A place to find a bed

A place to not live dead

.

The months and years they pass us by

Each colder than the one before it

And with less hope and more acceptance

Of this thing we have grown to call our life

.

We scream inside for change

.

For a place sent from above

A place to find real love

A place to live as doves

.

 

.

Act II: Cain (Brother)

.

A firstborn male, an alpha

A mission you were born with

A mission you destroyed

.

Protector – a lie

Guardian – deceit

Defender – a joke

.

A beast of nightmares

Haunting the waking hours

Of our defenseless lives

.

Aberration – the truth

Abomination – flesh

Monster – reality

.

The mark is not left on you

But on our pale and tender flesh

Knuckles marred our souls

.

Savior – of nothing

Ruiner – of all

Destroyer – of worlds

.

Your presents left on ribs and stomachs

Black and blue and red all over

Hide them for the perfect family lie

.

Predator – of youth

Hunter – of innocence

Butcher – of dreams

.

In the end you realized power was unneeded

You controlled us by fear and words

Controlling our lives without your fists

.

Stalker – of hallways

Terror – of bedrooms

Horror – of staircases

.

Our lives not ours to live

Our lives you’ve taken for your own

At any moment could be ended

At any moment taken from us

By this fearful creature in our home

By this crushing black mind

.

.

 

 

Act III: A house not home

.

This home is anything but

To the world, a portrait of health

White picket fence, warm painted doors

Strong sturdy walls, inviting windows

A mother and a brother at the top of the stair

.

But deep are the lies, a deadly disguise

The fence, razor wire atop cold hard steel

To keep us from climbing out

The door locked tighter than any bank vault

To keep us from running away

.

The walls cold dead concrete

To keep us interred inside them

The windows barred and twelve feet thick

To keep us from crying for help

The mother the warden, the brother a guard

To keep us afraid

.

And we

We are prisoners of the mind

No locks on our doors, no bars on our windows

No barbed wire fences, no prison guards

No walls to keep us in

But we are slaves to the family

.

Those who starve and long the most for food

Remember the least what it tastes like

And will settle for sour milk and rotten meat

Knowing no better

.

There is only one thing that keeps us here.

The only thing we have to fear

Is fear itself

In our hearts, fear has a name

Fear is called mother

Fear is called brother

.

So on we live, breathing still

We try to run and we try to hide

Living in fear where we should be safe

Hiding from who should hide us

Wishing for safety from who should save us

.

Our home has become a tomb

Full of dark corners and darker memories

Haunting our dreams, brutalizing our minds

Patrolled by saints with sharp bright grins

In whom solitude and privacy reveal the monster

.

The story is still incomplete, but things seem to be looking up.

This entry was posted in Poem, Writing, Writings. Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.