I first felt you when I was too young to truly know your name, but not old enough to hold back the pain. My example was not my own, my heart took root in fear-
of becoming what raised me.
From babies, raising babies.
They shouted through walls, and slammed at the core.
I pushed our door shut, and dropped to the floor.
He grabbed me and shook me, and shouted some more.
I went to school then, hiding the war.
I dreamed of a life we could all explore.
You shaped my view, then set the gloom.
Cold hands, cold face, an even colder room. You pulled at me with sing-songs, like a piper of doom.
Foreshadow, foreboding, your everlasting loom.
My body was still, while I danced in your maze.
You showed me a world of darkness and haze.
Abuse, misuse, a utopian face.
You forced me into a formula race.
We learned your dance without music, and to speak without sound.
To hold up a house, while it tore itself down.
We learned to listen to what wasn’t said.
To read body language, and eyes full of dread.
You taught us survival, but called it our name.
We stayed in too long, this unending game.
Chasing old patterns, then pointing the blame.
We wore our ache like a badge or a name.
I see your game’s board, and expanded my space.
To keep me at peace from your poison laced grace.
but your board is set again, and I will not rot.
