At times, the silence
feels as oppressive
as tar,
and just as dark.

When the family
members are gone,
be it to school or work
or wherever,

I take the opportunity
to let her out;
the little girl with
all the scars,
who lives inside…

of the walls,
in between the halls
of my very being.

She cautiously walks along,
quietly,
and finds her spot
among the shadows.

There, she can
taste her fears,
and cry her tears…

with no one the wiser,
no witness to be found,
except the very
walls and halls,

but they can hold
a secret,
or a confession,
with the utmost
discretion.

Standing at a distance,
I allow her her space…

space for expression,
respite from depression,
safety from oppression,
room for regression.

The clock keeps ticking;
it never slows or stops.

She knows the hour
will come for her to,
once again,
return to the place
in which only she
resides,
inside.

Holding on
(for dear life),
till the next chance
she’ll come out,
once again,

for an ever needed
escape
from the tempermental
holds of our
Reality.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 29 Jan 15