as a child, i lived in constant fear of pain
hiding in dark corners
my teeth gritting, grinding
each creak of a floorboard heralding the next strike
the whining trumpet of
my oppressors' approach
thrown down stairs
locked in rooms
beaten blue
hands under
clothes, dancing over wounds
my only peace the slow rumination after.
this was my Hell on earth.
so then why
do I
only feel alive
when you hurt me?