Daisy.
A little flower with white petals that sometimes turn pink.
An orange centre that withstands the constant extraction of those petals,
with the pang and echo of tiny voice shouting
          “He loves me; he loves me not!
Often mistaken for a ****.

Daisy.
A girl who winces with insecurity
every time the nearest dandelion clock is
plucked from the soiled earth around her.
She watches with wet, reddened eyes
as she is paralysed
and unable to stop the careless children blow away Time,
as if it were some sort of lark,
seed by seed.

Daisy.
A witness to the exposure of stalks and leaves alike;
a veteran of the unwanted embrace and, indeed,
the wanton thieving of petals and memories and silence and voice
combined.

She is swaying but explicitly not
bending to the wind.
She stands her ground and she has
blossomed.

Two Sides. One which aims to please, obey, reassure, hide and convince through the pain they bear.

And the other is defiant, livid, refusing and careless - thundering very often, reminiscent to be of an angry and stormy sky! Though this one also bears pain...

Did you notice something the two have in common? Yes, that's right! The both of them bear pain - a mutual pain despite how different.

This Is A Trauma Response. Two Sides that are moulded and melded together against my will - the two children trying in their own ways to protect me: undergoing psychological abuse and neglect from strangers which claim to be paternal figures.

Sometimes, the obedient child forces my face a smile when facing the monsters, an attempt to deceive and simutaneously protect me.

Not only that, but the noise of footsteps against creaky floors, presumably to be the monsters approaching my room, the child will forcefully pull my head under the blanket, an attempt to fool the monster that i'm sleeping...

Though this action isn't consistent.

Sometimes, the naughty child snaps with rage and defiance! Running their mouth, slamming doors and even shoving. This one is fed-up. Fed-up of the mistreat I receive universally.

If anyone dares to oppose this one, or get close to me, they'll lunge forward with snapping jaws full of hate. Further hinderance can elevate the words, soon into violence they crave and harbor.

But deep down, the children, myself included, wish for harmony and peace. All these aspects which will never be requited...

“O, who hath done this deed?”
        
“Nobody, I myself. Farewell./Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell” ~ Othello V.ii
            
                                     *

The day my dad built my new bed, I cried for hours.
At last, a frame that will lift me up,
Not force me down.
At last, a frame that was fit for purpose.

No more hiding from the monster that lived underneath,
overhead and
in-between my sheets.

Somewhere to lie in without being lied to.

            (It’s just a bed, but it’s a safe place to rest my head.)

Somewhere to peacefully retire, not hastily retreat.

            (It’s just a bed, but it’s without him, so it’s without sin.)

There used to be so much silence after all the violence
          “And yet, she must die.”
You could use the very knife my life rested on to
Cut the tension in the room.

But now, Sweet Desdemona!
Now your rest is due.
He took your every breath away but
His chaos could not consume
Your famous last words.
He cannot reach you in your eternal sleep.

For months, I have thought you lucky, and envied your fate.
But now, at long last, I have found comfort in my own bed frame.

It all bled and bled and bled.

The hurt. The abandonment. The truth. The metaphors. 

It all bled.

It all bled so vicious and dark,
That I started wondering if my bitterness
started staining the crimson of my blood.
And painted it a stark black,
As I picked apart all that I lack.

And I bled and bled and bled like
The never-ending torture 
Of birth and death.

I have just taken the first breath of fresh air after being held underwater for so long that I thought for sure I was going to die.
I could’ve sworn I’d already gotten out of the water a long time ago,
I remember fighting for so long to swim out,
But no, I remember now.

Just as I had caught sight of the shore there was a man there rushing to help me out.
Thank god because I was exhausted after fighting so hard for so long,
I do not know if I could’ve gotten out without help, and I told him as much.
He offered me such kindness that it seemed easy to put my trust in him,
And so I did.

I looked over my shoulder one last time to take in the place I had run from and prepared to say my final goodbyes to it,
After all there had been good memories made here too,
Before I had been pushed in,
Although those seemed like forever ago now.

I take a deep breath and start to turn my head forward once again,
But all of a sudden my legs are no longer there on the ground holding me up.
I do not know what is going on but the water surrounding me threatening to enter my lungs feels so familiar,
I almost let it consume me.

I did not even realize I was being held under until he loosened his grip for what was only a moment,
But that was all it took for me to take that first breath and run.

Oh Little Swan
You have been hurt
By the touch
Of the vicious man

Oh Little Swan
The things you would do
For the love of your life
His smile and eyes blue

Oh Little Swan
Your fragile body
Vanishes into thin air
With every turn

Oh Little Swan
You long to be free
From memories of  
Anguish and misery

But this day
Will never come
Dry your tears
Little Swan
Smile and say your goodbyes
On this cold, dark day