His childhood room sits atop of a minefield; With words berating against the walls; Breakfast comes in a belittling bowl; As the lieutenants loiter within the halls.
Stand by, move cautiously; You might set something off. Keep close track of your every move, Perfect the execution or they'll disapprove.
Dare not to cry, keep those fears hidden; Showing weakness around here is deadly forbidden. Lost in the field of verbal grenades; Thrown by those meant to provide him shelter.
Itβs been 34 years since the war has happened; Yet these minefields still exist somewhere in his mind; I think his parents may have forgotten; He wasnβt a commander, he was just a child.
A poem about the lasting impact of childhood trauma and emotional abuse.