A room in the basement,
A room that knew too much,
Too dark to leave behind.
I was tired,
Heavy with sorrow.
She never asked why—
Never asked me to speak.
The clutter in my mind didn’t matter to her.
I was dragged onto the bed,
A hand pressing into my back,
My body slammed against the wall,
Her rage leaving marks on my skin—
A scar that won’t heal.
"I don’t want to do this, but here we are."
A whisper, lost in the chaos.
Words echo through the house,
Where love is twisted,
Where kindness never crosses the doorstep.
"I’m not sure I can... ma yelled at me again."
For the smallest things,
For being human.
Her voice drowns out my heart,
Slicing through the silence.
She tells me I'm a failure,
A burden,
A disappointment.
She says she’ll pull me from school,
Keep me locked away.
Send me far from everything I dream.
She hit me,
And still, she says,
"You'll never leave. You’re going to fail."
But where do I go when pain is all I know?
When bruises map my body,
And rage paves my path?
I cry,
Not for the sting of her hand,
But for the death of my dreams.
Her words press down,
Venom laced with promises of no future.
"You’re just going to be a ghetto rat,"
She spits at my dreams of college,
And I feel it sting,
Because maybe she's right.
Maybe she’s serious about keeping me here.
I falter,
Assignments abandoned—
Not from carelessness,
But confusion,
And the walls close in.
When she touches me,
It’s not a caress,
But a painful grip,
Pinching, scratching.
Her voice hisses like a snake:
"Stop acting so self-conscious. You look ******* stupid."
Her hands on my body,
"Why does my touch make you uncomfortable? I’m not hurting you, stop it."
Uninvited,
Unwanted.
But I stay silent,
Too afraid,
Too small beneath her control.
Why does my body feel like it belongs to her?
Why does she think it’s okay to touch me
Like I’m nothing but a possession to bend to her will?
"What’s wrong, my perfect, spoiled little *****?"
Her voice smooth as poison,
"This is what you wanted."
A trap she set long ago.
I try to hold my head high,
But the ceiling feels lower every day.
Her anger shakes me,
Her wrath pushing me into the wall.
She screams at every mistake,
Even when I’m just trying to breathe.
"Z is going to be a tattooed dolled-up ****."
Her words sear,
Carving into my skin.
No matter how hard I try,
I will never be enough.
"I think you’d all be better off without me,"
Her voice trembles,
Heavy with her own misery.
But her despair is hers alone.
I’m just trying to survive the day.
"She’s not going to get a job, she’s lazy like I am."
Her words break me,
Glass shards piercing deep.
She doesn’t see me, doesn’t hear me—
Only sees her failures reflected in me.
A mirror of everything she fears.
And I am not the reflection I want to be.
No matter how loud she screams,
Her hurt doesn’t change the truth.
I am more than the sum of her expectations.
"I’m just the nasty ***** that nags and yells at everyone, aren’t I?"
Her words echo,
But they are not mine.
The house is never quiet,
Not when the walls scream with her rage.
"We’ve been in a bump since my dad moved in."
A home built on silence,
Where no one speaks the truth,
Fearing the storm it might wake.
"I feel like we’re doing all this just to get X into high school and college."
But what of me?
What of my hopes that fade in the corners of my mind?
What of the quiet nights
When I hear her rage but never her love?
"Maybe we should’ve never adopted Y and Z."
I drown in her words,
In the pit of their failures.
Because I’m not just a kid—
I’m a punching bag.
And her fists land on my body,
But the damage runs deeper than skin.
"I don’t care if I ruin it all, I’m leaving."
Her rage blinds her to the harm she causes.
Her fists, her words—
They shatter me.
I am left alone in the wreckage,
Wondering how to rebuild myself,
How to make her see me.
In my dreams, I flee,
But the house always calls me back,
With its cold floors and walls that whisper lies.
"We’re messy people,"
She says.
But it’s not the mess in the house—
It’s the mess in our hearts.
A house built on silence,
A body that wasn’t mine,
And a truth still hidden between the walls,
I’m still trying to speak.
Annotations for Confessions From the Walls I Keep
Symbolism of X, Y, and Z:
X, Y, and Z represent my siblings and myself, with Z being me. I could have chosen any letters, but the last three of the alphabet felt symbolic—almost like an ending. It reflects the way I sometimes feel—like an afterthought, something insignificant.
Why I Was Nervous to Post This:
I’ve always feared that if I shared anything about my childhood or family, my mother would somehow find it and retaliate. Even though I’m 18, that fear hasn’t disappeared. She used to threaten my biological sister (Y) and me, saying that if we ever reached out for help—if we “snitched” or called CPS—she would **** us. Sometimes, she went into disturbing detail about how she would do it. Other times, she threatened to take away everything we loved.
Living With Her Now:
I still live with her, and while the physical threats have faded, she continues to manipulate me emotionally. Now, she threatens to take away my happiness. I have depression and take medication for it, but I know my mental health won’t truly improve until I leave. I’m eager to go to college, yet terrified to leave my biological sister (Y) behind with her.
Family Dynamics & Adoption:
For context, I am adopted. Y (middle sister) is my biological sister, while X (the youngest) is not. I love X, but she is the only daughter my mother truly cares for. I am the eldest, and sometimes I wish I were the youngest, thinking that maybe then I would be loved. But deep down, I know that’s not true—she only loves the child she gave birth to. If X were the eldest instead of me, she would still be the favorite.
How We Compare in My Mother’s Eyes:
> X has good grades, is involved in clubs and activities, and is expected to
succeed.
> Y has ADHD, is hands-on, full of energy, and an amazing person, but she
struggles with impulsivity.
> Z (me)—I am just a poet, a writer. I don’t know what else to say about
myself. I don’t think there’s much to know.
