--  In silence  --
The dream reel unwinds its thread.
---
And the heart,
like a  l  o  o  m,
slowly weaves the thread.
---
The dreamer tried to reach for that thread,
but
          F
                 E
                        L
                                L
                                                                      And never found her way
                           back to
H   O   P   E


                                                                                            ---Michael Slade

It was so dark,
like a black hole I couldn’t escape from.
. . .
It was cramped enough that no more than two people could fit standing,
and it was full of dust.
The shelves were taken out of it months before,
because we were moving soon.
It always smelled damp, like mold,
but I never found any.

He yanked me in,
my arm sore from how tight he gripped it.
I bit my lip to keep from crying out,
when he threw me to the hardwood floor.
It was so cold against my bare legs below my nightgown
that I practically shivered.

He towered over me,
and I choked.
Suffocated by the smell of cigarette smoke,
radiating off of him.

He always smelled like that,
and so did most of my clothes.
Even our furniture,
because he liked to smoke in the house.

His hands were always covered in a layer of grime,
and he left a brown ring on my arm where he grabbed me.
I shrank back against the wall, knees against my chest, as he stared me down, with his ice-colored eyes.

- “Maybe this way you’ll learn to listen,” -
His frigid tone was infinitely worse
than any scream or swear that he could ever throw at me.

- “I didn’t mean to, I'm sorr-” -
I was cut short when he stepped closer,
and I knew to shut up before I made it worse.

- “Don’t make me take this belt off.” -
. . .
THE BELT.
It was made of dark leather and covered in thick jewels,
most of them shaped like crosses.
The end of it was plated with polished silver-colored metal,
and flat on both sides.
The BELT.
That was the threat he always used,
because he knew how much I hated it.
. . .
I lowered my head and stayed silent,
biting the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted blood.
He turned to leave,
his heavy work boots leaving muddy footprints behind him.
He slammed the door and ---
'''CLICK'''
. . .
I scrambled to the door desperately trying to open it,
but it was too late.
I cried out, a strangled noise,
as I desperately choked for air.

- “Please let me out! I’ll do anything, I’ll even scrub the floor with my toothbrush!” I sobbed. “Please!” -

“QUIT YOUR CRYING BEFORE I GIVE YOU A REAL REASON TO!”
. . .
I shut my mouth.
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
I tucked myself back into the corner and silently cried.
I sat like that the whole day,
and all of the night.
. . .
No   f  o  o  d.
No   w  a  t  e  r.
No   b  a  t  h  r  o  o  m.
. . .
I sat there in silence,
while he yelled at the tv like a lunatic.
Hours crawled by,
while I rotted there in my own filth.

The next morning he opened the door and apologized,
claiming he was tired and had a lapse in judgement.

I knew he didn’t really mean it,
his  "a p o l o g y,"
because he would’ve done it again in a heartbeat.

He tried to hug me,
but I pushed him away.
He opened his mouth to shriek.
but I beat him to it.

I let out my:
ANGER
s a d n e s s
F R U S T R A T I O N
. . .
I sobbed and squealed,
until my eyes burned,
and my throat was raw.
. . .
Then I turned and walked away.
Into my room.
Door locked.
Lights on.

That was the very day,
that I decided I wasn’t going to stay quiet.
That I wouldn't let anyone hurt me,
without a consequence.

He pretends it didn’t happen,
like everyone else.
But... I don’t care either.
He will never hurt me again,
because I won’t let him.

I am in control.
I am forged from a fire,
lit from anguish and hatred.
You stoke the flame,
and you get burned.

I learned this lesson when I was just seven years old.
All because I accidentally broke a
s t u p i d
u g l y
v a s e
. . .
It was red.

You were my angel.
I was fading into the background,
and you reached out your hand.
You carried me to the sun,
and showed me everything I thought I needed.

I was worried we would burn up,
from how bright it was around us.
But it was a useless fear,
because you let go.

You were supposed to save me.
You were supposed to be my everything.
I fell for so long,
yet so fast.

Now I've finally stopped falling,
and I'm bleeding out on the pavement.

It is 3:00
And I am still awake.
I stare into the darkness
While others rest-
Like the dead.

It is 3:12
And I lie in a bed that isn't my own,
Questioning everything.
Why do I still have bad dreams?
Why can't I ever sleep?

It is 3:33
And time doesn't exist anymore.
The clock in the hall deafens my ears,
With its incessant ticking-
An endless tap in my skull.

It is 3:46
And not even my dog,
Is making a sound.
Am I the only one to live now?
What kind of purgatory have I fallen into?

It is 3:52
And my eyes are glued to this screen.
The world rests in peaceful slumber,
But all I do is tap out poems
That no one truly cares to read.

It is 4:03
Why am I still awake?
Because the memories I face in my sleep,
Are scarier than anything
That comes from under the bed.

If I wrote all my thoughts
On tiny scraps of paper,
Or tapped onto a blinding white screen-
Could I call it poetry?
Would people listen to me then?