his days were few
when shadows came
to bring the tempest rains
to infiltrate a lad not even two

he learned to have a song inside
that danced and skipped along
no matter what that day
or night would hold

so when the sticks
arrived from monsters
with the thing that stood
and poked up right inside

the songs would play to quiet
the tearing pain that broke the door
where they would come to shove
themselves on toddler flesh

how long will he
with gentle life
be robbed
once more

It was not supposed to be that way.
No green-purple spots in my eyelids, I said,
said
no graveyard asphalt on the back of my knees.
It was supposed to approach me modestly,
quietly,
with blushing fingertips and eons of time.
I had imagined it would approach me modestly.

In the meantime, I could visit a brothel
or two
***** my heart out, spread open its capillaries.
Poetry is prostitution of the lewdest kind
and how lovely, while I **** my paragraphs
to eat a man
or two?
There was one
with hardened fingertips and no more than a second to spare.

I had imagined it would approach me plainly.
No sifting through mounds of shell and bone, I said,
said
no puppet shows.
No masquerades, and my veins were supposed to do their job.

This was supposed to be my play,
my knight takes rook,
my girl takes respite.
I was supposed to come out golden.

He was not cruel but it seeped out of him
like mustard gas.
Sickly, yellow,
I inhaled it with relish
acid burned its way down my cheeks
through my chest.
And how beautiful, to love and be loved
without feeling it crush your lungs.

Justice denied
for another mind of my kind.

It hurts so much to see
the abuse over time.

It's a burden we carry
against our will.

Our hurt is an expectation
we can never fulfill.

But overcoming our "shortcomings"
is what strengthens us.

Our obstacles
are our only path.

Our unique efforts,
the only way to success.

Effort is success.
And success is being free.
And freedom is just being
the kind we were born to be.

He lashed his anger upon me
Bruised my flesh with every hatful word
My love for him still stayed strong
My back endured all the pain and
It stood stronger as he became frail
He could not raise his fist nor speak
I did not act on retribution  
Tho it was my turn to raise my hand
And my voice
What I did was bath him so he can clean his soul
feed him sweet warm food to help him speak
Gentle words
What came to his tongue words I never heard
“Forgive me”
for I did, the moment after I baptized you

Can you really know me
If you don't know the darkness I've seen?
If you don't understand
Why it's so hard for me to sleep?
Or how I have to fight back tears
When I hear someone yelling?
Can you ever truly see me
If I don't show you what's behind me?
The childhood trauma boxed up neat
Until it spills across the floor of my insides
I keep the doors locked mostly
But locks don't prevent earthquakes
And sometimes, the ground shakes and
Frees memories to pool and suffocate
I've thought about speaking them but
Something inside says it's not bad enough
That no one will understand or see me
They'll just judge me as weak
"I'll give you something to cry about"
Hurled at a traumatized body

I don't want you to see me
Because you could call it sensitivity
And overlook the senseless violence
That comes with surveillance, intimidation
To share this pain is too risky
Because so much of it is crazy-making
I can take a punch no problem
It's the other stuff that broke me deeply
Expectations perfectionistic and unrealistic
Task repetition into sleep deprivation
Fear flooding my system so entirely
I chose to **** myself over interrupting her
Every week she made me grab the scale
No matter the result, I know I'll fail
If I gain weight then I'm lazy trash
A decrease? muscle weighs more than fat
And when she found out that I hated myself
She had the nerve to act confused
Asking if I know that I'm beautiful
Like I should love this body that could only lose.

She controlled everything
From how I wore my hair
To the clothes on my body.
Forced to speed walk around the park
I was so afraid of her and her rage
I never told her people made fun of me.
She made every decision
Not only what I ate
But how much too.
I'd learn to eat fast like she wanted
Trying to finish what she gave me
It didn't matter that it was too much.
Despite my attempts at compliance
I often threw up before I could finish
And she'd scream about that too.

In the mornings at home I'd wait in dread
To see who would come to get me
Whether my mother or she were driving.
With her, the entire ride home
I had to recite Everything I did at home
Starting over at any detail missed.
From snacks to bathroom breaks
Over and over I repeated and forgot
Never able to remember it all like she could.

Sometimes neighbors were concerned
Picking fights, they'd bring me up
With pride she'd say I'm just like her.
From love to hate she'd shift
Moods vacillating so fast
It'd give anyone whiplash.
Once a neighbor reported her for hitting me
But the police knew of neighborhood feuds
No one ever asked me about it.

I learned to move around silently
Rushing to get outside the house
Before she could wake up and yell at me.
She'd scream so close to my face
I'd be showered in her spit
Trying to stop the tears from betraying me.
I'd watch two grown adults fist fighting
Being threatened not to cry
And failing anyway.

A no phone rule meant forced isolation
When I brought my iPod in my backpack
She stole it and never gave it back.
School was solace in those weeks
And I'd try to lose myself in reading
Anything to escape experiencing reality.
Sometimes she sent me to sleep very early
Other nights she kept me up well into the morning
Redoing tasks until she deemed it done right.
Alone in bed at night
I'd stare into the glowing clock
Counting down my time
Consumed by shame
And the deepest desire to die.

So can you really know me if you never see
That this is the history that haunts me
In the face of insanity there is no winning
So what's the point of it being seen?