"stomps" poems
* [Part the First]
There's some giddy, childish sensation
The hope of a new generation
Faceless cameras war for my voice
A flashing ocean of stomps and shoves
Taken from me is my choice
Given is a false sense of love
They smile too wide to be true
Contorted and stretched, like some plastic
But they're all I have before the blue
So deep breaths, and then come dramatics
People who pass me by
Don't seem to realise
The emptiness of the sky
When they look into my eyes
They ask:
Is it lonely up in space?
Is it a cold, abandoned place?
Is it bright amongst the stars?
Do you know who you really are?
[Part the Second]
My life has faded to drunken thoughts
Reality doesn't confirm what can't be bought
The multicoloured psychedelia
Of nebula turning to rainbows
Now looks more fake than ever
And so my sanity goes
There's a beast out there, lurking
I'm not sure if it wants me
But my hope is hiding, sulking
From the abyss that can hear and see
The worst way to die is alone
Where there's no one who can help me
As my punishment destroys my home
At least, from my memory
They screech:
It's so lonely up in space
It's a cold, abandoned place
It's too bright amongst the stars
I think I'm dreaming too far
[Part the Third]
The faintest echo of laughter
Presents itself as my only answer
It's distant, like someone drowning in ecstasy
But it rings from the walls to my ears
The effect of the starry-eyed seas
Has mutated into whimpering fears
I know I'm not amongst the stars anymore
But the damage cannot be undone
So I gave myself to the floor
I could lie here, and never see the sun
Space could've never actually existed
Just a vivid fantasy of escape
But my mind has been so twisted
It must've been the cruelty of fate
They wonder:
Was it lonely up in space?
Was it a cold, abandoned place?
Will the stars ever forgive?
Do I still have a life to live?
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
In the dimly lit chamber, we set the scene.
An owner and his pet, a game of primal and prey.
She kneels like an eager dog, a collar around her neck.
He stomps his feet and keeps her obedience at play.
The owner, like a magician, keeps tricks up his sleeve.
He wants his pet to learn— to be his student and please.
Commanding her to crawl, to fetch and beg.
Waiting for him to call her a good little pet.
She barks and whimpers, a puppy in passion.
Spins three times and licks her master’s feet without a whine.
The pet surrenders to her master’s might.
She delivers his sturdy leather boots in a straight line.
With a flick of the whip, the pet curls in elation.
Her master chuckles at her sounds of temptation.
Submitting to the cynicism of ******* and discipline.
She is flogged like a plebeian, forgetting she’s a citizen.
Pet and master, a bond so strong.
The two are bound by zeal, craving one another.
She wallows in the comfort of her belly rubs and treats.
And runs around with a rush of red in color.
She goes through treacherous training.
And yelps if she’s ever caught complaining.
Waiting for a tasteful gift: the eternity collar.
When she is ready, he puts it on with honor.
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 6:25 PM UTC
i can still feel his hands around my neck.
the fingers like words and “i don’t love you” and it stings although he wasn’t the first to say it, i can’t breathe.
she haunts our hallways, our floorboards are cracking
beneath our feet, our home is crumbling
between our fingertips and
i can feel her weight on my chest. sometimes
i think that she should just go by the way that her footsteps echo after she’s gone. i remember
a wall full of holes from where his fists
kissed ever so gently.
i think that wall is what my heart might look like but lately
i’ve had trouble finding my pulse.
i can still feel his hands around my neck.
does he know
why i can’t look him in the eye? does he
know
the blue makes me feel like I’ve swallowed too much water, does he know i can’t breathe?
i think I’m still trying to understand why
beautiful things die in my fingertips and why he stomps on every rooting bulb my wilting body tries to plant, why he ripped my roots from beneath my feet and why my hair started to fall out why
he put his hands on my throat and how i still feel them there.
has he figured it out?
does he know that lemon scented bleach would taste better than
her on his lips and the ********
they splatter?
i can still feel his hands around my neck.
i was born into light, into pain, into love and
he wasn’t the first man to leave a mark on my body and i feel like he is the works with the universe to watch me fall
things fall and shatter without you touching them, things break while you’re sleeping and
everything about him and her stings like saltwater and everything about me
bends for him like light.
i can still feel his hands around my ******* neck.
he crashed into her hips like his hands to my bones, like fists to walls, the walls
rattled, my ribcage
rattled, he was
rattled and i can still feel his hands around my neck,
pushing, like me trying to ******* make this work.
what is this?
his hands are like ghosts around my throat,
the memory of her wrapped around his body instead of me
wrapping, holding in place
icanstillfeelhisfuckinghandsaroundmyfuckingneck
i am not stupid you know.
i can only see that he moves like these words write themselves, and he
speaks like music bleeding through a closed window,
i swear, i am still cracked
though i still have tattoos left from the tips of his fingers from those heavy-handed nights,
i swear, they didn’t even sting.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
I stand on the scale
I look at the number
I'm fat
I way over 140lbs
What am I doing wrong?
I barely eat anything
She steps off the scale
Walks over to the counter
And opens the cupboard
Peanut butter
She untwists the twisty ties
Grabs two pieces of white bread
Places them in the toaster slots
Pulls down the lever
For ten seconds
Pulls it up
Pulls it down
Waits ten more seconds
Pulls it up
Takes it out
Spreads the peanutty butter across the crisp edges
Starts eating it
Nom nom nom
Her dog moves close to the counter
And begs
She walks away
Drops a few crumbs
And the dog eats it up
And follows her into the living room
And looks up
Nom nom nom nom
She just looks at the dog
Puts her bare foot against his nose
Which is cold
And the dog doesn't even move
Sticks his tongue outside his mouth
And breathes quickly
Stupid
She puts her foot back down
And moves it against the rug a few times
Then walks into the kitchen
And opens a bag
Of salt and vinegar chips
Starts eating them
Nom nom nom nom
Dog catches the crumbs and slides against the kitchen floor
She walks back upstairs
And the dog follows her
To her room
She shuts the door
And the dog starts scratching through the bottom
And barks
She just lays in her bed
Eating
The dog barks again
She opens the door
And pushes him
With her right foot
Down the stairs
He tumbles down the stairs and hits the kitchen floor
He races back up
Gets pushed back down
Dog runs away
She walks towards the bathroom
And uses the other scale
And she sees that it says 141 lbs
I've only been eating for a few minutes
Errrr
She closes the bag of chips
And stomps downstairs
And places the bag on the counter
Dog waits in the living room
Right next to the kitchen
His food bowl is empty
No water
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
the urban ecosystem
breeds the urban beast;
the two-legged feral brute
they board their clockwork motorcages
the young ones in predatious packs
the old, too weathered to care
animal autonomy
born from sweatshop routines
i imagine myself
as a metropolitan jane goodall
observing and assimilating
taking note of the cacophony of
hoots and and hollers
the city-born mating calls
the high-topped courtship dances
******* civility born from enslaved mindsets
a young, dark-skinned boy
let's rhyme flow freeformed
to the rhythm of a young girls dancing feet
stomps and claps excite the celebration
of abandoned social etiquette
and of my foreign presence
i resemble some exotic missing link
a mix of this, that and the other
my skin, a rare quilt
and this draws more attention
than a gold-dusted african queen
i place myself in the back
peering through the windows of this transit jungle
feeling my heart skip beats
boom...boom...shhhh...
i must've left my rhythm in my other heritage
because i can't catch the ancient flow
but my neck leads my head in bobs
my brain rattles with old soul memories
and i see these young folks on the train
held back by centuries of black struggle
but forever rejoicing in african pulse
forever embodying our ancestoral pride
and i think, how peculiar
on the outside looking in like a fishbowl
exiled from my own brown-skinned tribe
with my oppression fitted like a glove
my blackness a mere disguise
my blackness camouflage
my blackness
not quite
black
enough
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Flavored hukkas are passed around,
Alcohol and paan bring the mehfil alive,
The Ustad ji sits down and flexes his fingers,
He knows he’ll be working all night.
Dha dhin dhin dha, dha dhin dhin dha
Na tin tin ta
Ta dhin dhin dha,
Move the Ustad ji’s fingers on the tabla.
While with a veil on her face,
And feet dipped in and henna-colored,
Lips in cheap red lipstick covered,
She unfalteringly, gracefully enters.
Her steps are matched by the chhan chhan
of the ghungroos tied around her ankles so slender.
Eyes set on her, feast on her youth,
Just right for the taste of all her customers.
Bejeweled hands placed on waist,
She stands at the centre of attention,
She lifts a foot, readies to dance,
And begins the nightly convention.
Skillfully, perfectly, sensuously move
Feet well-trained since childhood days,
Harmonizing with the timbre
That the Ustad ji creates.
Tin tin na dhin na dhin na
On the tabla, experienced fingers beat.
Chhan chhan chhan chhan,
She dances, repeating the rhythm with her feet.
Metal bells strike against one another
And chhan chhan chhan-a chhan she goes,
Making breaths prance and jump,
As she strikes on the ground her heels and toes.
Then suddenly she stops and gasps,
Over disgruntled, impatient groans she tries
to hear the sound that flows in, only to her ears.
Several rooms away, a baby cries.
Naach! A voice booms,
Arey naach! More join in.
A glass of wine is shattered by an irritated one.
But she stands still, clutching her chest, frozen.
One sways up to where she stands,
For the veil covering her face, his hands dive.
He uncovers her, but is blinded by the sight of her beauty
And her tears that fill her kajal-smeared eyes.
She’s shaken back to reality as she looks all around.
Her sparkling pall is off her face.
She sees all those drunk men who’ve paid to watch her dance.
She knows she has to make the sound of the cries fade away.
So she stomps her feet on the ground till it hurts.
Hair flying out of braid, bangles clanging,
Anguish replaces her innocent loveliness,
The music in the air is now shrill, jarring.
Her steps match with the tabla’s rhythm no more.
But she dances, planting her feet so hard they weep.
She silences every sound with the noise of her ghungroos,
Praying that the night will lull her wailing son to sleep.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
this girls got it down
when she stomps on the ground
the whole town
looks around
"say what"
what
what
what
(no thanks, macklemore)
when she flips her hair,
and it's in dee air
the boys all go
"heyyoo"
and shout the whole dayyo
caz look here allison
i know you like peanut butter cookies
and your percy jackson bookies
and singin' josh groban
like (you gotta be jokin')
really girl,
you think you got it goin'!
you inspired me
and to climb up in this tree
and write this poem
just so i could show em
that i can take it
as well as dish it
and girl
you the best roommate
you got the best traits
even though you keep me up
caz you be watching 30 rock
and wearing my fav pair of socks
but that okay
caz with you girl, every day
is a par-tay
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Moon is getting red
as if it's being strangled
my legs are proving the struggle
the night belongs to a scream
scream of a sparrow
in a gut deep stab
by some homeless from the country far far away
who stomps his feet every time you ask his name
she was rather painted differently
or interpreted differently
but the melancholy woman
I saw in the street selling goody bags
with a huge smile on her face
as I turn around the block
it was alley of the gunshot
people talk here in gunshot
gunshot carols
gunshot lullabies
gunshot romance
gunshot cry
gunshot memories
the subtle is the step you take
the subtle is every trigger you pull
bite you lips and
you are accused of being a communist
sad howl wakes up the city
the feeling of being mugged is haunting every lamp
every star
every eye
everything that glows
and
in a quiet distant direction
voyage continues
on a day
slipping into a moonless night
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
We are completely and utterly ****** up.
Daddy stomps his feet around;
rawr, rawr, rawr
Little brother stands defiantly;
screaming, "I hate you; I will **** you all!"
tears streaming down his face;
once innocent but now always covered
in anger, in insecurities, in uncertainty.
And mama is in the recliner;
slurring sarcastic comments.
A glass of wine for each hour of the day.
Where's sister you ask?
Well she's probably not here; trying to escape.
Filled with such an anger, such a stubbornness.
Or maybe she's in her room dancing;
not very good at it, but an outlet none the less.
As all of this psychotic behavior is enveloping
the lives of these people, I sit on the couch
an just watch it all.
Shut off to the world, I sit.
And I laugh and laugh at the fact,
that we are completely and utterly ****** up.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
The devil’s acts scratched into your skin;
Scald yourself with your own sins.
**** his soul out through his chest;
Ink it out- **** his quest.
Her mind in torture, her lack of amour
Fills her with fear- a ruptured shiver
Here he clutches a deadly dagger
Stabs the prey with morbid hunger
Stalks the hundred blackened souls
Digs a hundred hardened holes
His huge wings sign menace
Kills their passion, screams, “There is no grace.”
In his head, he feels misled.
The way he sees the girl
“I’ve always wanted to tell you,” he shrieks
“You used to be so beautiful!”
The sockets in his face leaks
The conjured up image in his head is dreadful
He lets out a final bloodcurdling cry
A signal of his goodbye
Before he stomps across the sunken boat
Tilts her head and slits her throat.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
In these stuck between hours
I discover the noise of being
that comes from an atmosphere
not used to being heard
The warping of the wooden doors
goes on unabashedly.
Like animals in untouched climes
they scurry along unaware
of conscious eyes that stare
only for selfish reasons
The observer adulterates
a once selfless night
Nowadays the timbers under
the floor have lost their
native timbre, taken on
a softer echo of carpet covered servility
Even after mistakes are recovered,
these once savage floors can no longer reclaim
any primal creak after being tucked into
domesticity for so long with soft footsteps of children
paired with repressed stomps of soul-starved adults
left cold by countless other floors never once
imbued with the life of a home.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
Poignant prose chucked out and recycled by morning.
Turned out trick repeated til boring.
The local band just started touring.
Sonnet's blasted until the ladies are 'whooring'.
...
Roxy Music dropped David Byrne.
For Ellie Goulding and a remix of burn.
Robert Johnson's been reworked.
Ratatat rap as interest is perked.
Dylan picked up the silent game.
Making ambient noises which all sound the same.
The Rolling Stones joined the church.
After buying some of Hoosier's merch.
Nicki Minaj claps her ****
Laying down a tribute for Terry Fox's stump.
Benefit concert soon to be run.
By the played out Glee Club composing Fun.
Beach Boys dragged in with the tide.
...And Stars Collide.
NOFX has gone clean
Fat Mike's gone and become a dean.
Tom Waits stomps out to Kendrick Lamar.
Hacking up bits of blunt induced tar.
Bumping out in Steve Ellison's car.
To Captain Murphy's karaoke bootlegged from a bar.
...
Less than 10 good tapes a year
Even fewer if referring to those others actually hear.
Jack White's gone third eye blind
Getting over run by his drug free mind.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
I am a creaking staircase;
Letting others step on me and crack my wooden boards from their heavy weight and intimidating stomps.
I am only a passing marker to their final destination,
But nevertheless, they still need me.
And I try to convince myself that my worth means something,
Because without my support they wouldn’t get anywhere.
Without my support they would be stuck,
No staircase to guide them up and away.
So they wonder if it was all worth it;
Carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.
This shows me that I am necessary and I am needed,
For without me, they wouldn’t make it to their destination.
Because they are running for a reason.
And my staircase heart provides them the nurture they need to make it.
My worth is not decided by the amount of cracks I have in my structure,
Not by the weight I carry upon my steps,
Not by the need to feel useful,
But by the amount of souls I have helped reach their destination.
I have given my support to those that have used me,
And although I should feel bitter my creaking staircase continues to give.
Proving that I have worth, even if it's as much as a penny's.
Proving that the weight on my shoulders has worn me into a comfortable state, like those stubborn shoes your mother got you for church.
Proving that they need me, like a boat needs water
in order to reach its desired destination.
I am a support system,
A staircase to the places that people need to be.
I am worth it.
The weight that I carry is for a reason.
The people who stomp on my staircase heart, at one point needed me.
And although I am not their destination, I am part of their journey.
The weight that they are carrying is supported by my steps.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 2:56 PM UTC
crashing waves comfort cold feet embedded in sand
adjacent to the lake-house and beneath the weeping willow
the tide falls along with the sun and a silence is brewed
until twisting vines of old christmas lights are sparked on the gazebo
a rush of noise and voices begins to fill the void that the night provides
whispers of love circulate among singing crickets and dancing frogs
eyes grow wide with the promise of an endless adventure once his hand is taken
and quiet footsteps become running stomps of laughter and joy into unknown lands
the two disappear from sight and agree not to look back
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
There is a man who thinks he's in charge,
he's strong, dumb and very large.
Twenty foot tall and that's a fact,
twenty and a half to be exact.
He can crush you with his bare hands,
you better obey his list of demands.
Not the devil, not a god,
just a huge man who's very odd.
Not a monster, not a myth,
just a man you can't mess with.
Stomps on people just for fun,
chaos for him has just begun.
He can **** you with his mighty fist,
its the third demand on his list.
Can't speak a word only grunts,
eats babies and smokes big blunts.
If he kicks, you will land a mile away,
his nasty teeth are filled with decay.
Getting shot just makes him mad,
will not stop killing til he finds his deadbeat dad.
His demand list has only five things,
you must call him the king of kings.
He has a name, please call him Rick,
or he'll slap you with his seven foot ****
You already know number three,
he'll punch you if you don't agree.
You don't wanna know number four,
but trust me it will lead to gore.
Killing his father is number five,
keep out of his way, if you wanna stay alive.
Five is as high that he can count,
his dads head he wants to mount.
Giving birth killed his poor mom,
her body exploded like a bomb.
He's only twenty, grew one foot a year,
not even old enough to drink a beer.
Found his dad and ripped off his head,
he actually smiled after the father was dead.
Rick became a very nice guy,
now he is friendly and very shy.
Rick died when he was thirty,
at the wake, Weird Al sang White And Nerdy.
His ashes are in a six foot urn,
this sad story will now adjourn.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
*it only took the gherkin to take modern into modern via pickle, but the cabbage pickled dome of the albert hall opera was lost to foe foe foo dub step pluck the plucker of twang of drop d uncool; ah wait, gherkin acne pimples roughage missing on the cabbage suckled, with the flush into oyster moisture past the sexed up morbid cupping of the five fingers telling pistons from pistons? i said as much about my ******** as i did about her mouth, just now, and i wash it off and wash it down shaking hands rather than kissing my children goodnight excusing the **** talking sweet chock choke goodnights; well, it's hard to be credited with womanising when only "polygamy" with prostitutes suffices; but i'll just tell you... swan lake was too loud thanks to the ballerinas' stomps... hated ballet... god curse i will be cursed with sisyphus' labours... i rather roll that stone than hear ballerinas dance once more!*
let the male cat roam and lay rampage to the night, the she-cat sleeps in, then on the third call for ginger: quarus! quarus! nothing... quarus! it begins to rain... shamanism without the safety-net of psychiatry for post-colonial nations trying behaviourism without anger, with anger sterilised, and certain french thinking of fascination with death and suicide with suicidal thought censored for no reason other than not worked with... well, that better be wellington thick rubber on the phallus when i ask for my money back guarantee nine months later.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
Who is he, Who is he
The broad shouldered
Stubbly chinned
Tired eyed
He is a young man
Who is she, Who is she
The sloping shouldered
Sparsely peach fuzzed
Bright eyed
She is a young woman
Why is he, Why is he
Squishing inside her small frame
Scraping his beard against her shaven face
Marring her youthful eyes with his tiredness
He is a young man
Why is she, Why is she
Crippling her stroll with his swaggering stomps
Darkening her skin with his brunette stubble
Masking his age with her dazzling irises
She is a young woman
Who is he
Who is she
Why is he
Why is she
Trapped
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
She hums a few nursery rhymes
Tiny tender stomps
Swinging forward, swaying sideward
In her womb randomly, gracefully.
Little feet listen as her heart
Drum rolls the beat.
In tranquil nights, sudden kicks
Danced her to sleep.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
The steeple's bell
ringing ominously in the distance.
So far yet so close,
resounding inside of my throbbing head.
bare feet brushed in earth crust and moss
dragging themselves over the wet grass,
body stuck in a mechanical forward motion,
having given up
on breaking through the thick ice now encasing her rotting bones.
Onward and onward,
toward the never ending bell.
Eyes pale and absent from vision,
she stomps on and on.
A wicked attraction
to that Godforsaken bell,
forcing itself from side to side
atop a burning prison of religion.
She opens her frosty,
melting mouth,
unable to speak truth
or reach her own thoughts-
she brays out quietly,
like that of a sheep.
Mindlessly her numb body
continues to follow the clanging of the bell.
Hearing only a glorious sound
to guide her in a world of dark,
foolishly braying her heart out to what she cannot see,
too frozen and numb to feel
the scorching flames
licking at her feet,
engulfing her,
enjoying her,
kindly leaving,
only her crisp ears
to hear the bell's final toll.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
My dearest Rocky,
You were too old.
Too old to chase after that mischief of mice.
But you were not to be halted.
And in return,
Hind legs destroyed.
Cut up and sewn together
In crisscross fashion.
Once a lazy *******
Then a lethargic moribund mutt.
(But still a *******
On your last leg, (or two) in a literal sense.
You dumb dog.
You balding, simple-minded scoundrel.
Christmas came and Christmas went.
A feast of elegance at your disposal.
Any indulgence you desired.
We bequeathed, as a last goodbye.
Brisket, frozen cream, pastries and more.
Up until the day, our eyes became sore.
One last car ride- One last roar.
One last breeze through your jowls.
Your clacking stomps and palsy-walsy howls,
Echo even now when I walk through the door.
Now silent and still, turned to ash and dust
I hope you’re herding that memory of elephants,
And leading that pride of lions,
In your infinite dream.
And remembering those who you brought joy.
But especially,
The one who carried you
Upstairs to bed
Every night.
I love you still, and always will.
Good boy, ******* good boy.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
Your back is almost broken.
Your mind is almost taken.
Your *** is just a token
Of the hearts you've broken
On the day you kneel down.
You used to know the clean cool water
As it drove itself around the bend.
But you forgot the notes from father
His will found you talking without end.
Find the silence frozen in you mind,
The half-song that was your pride.
Feel the stomps of boots on soil.
That's our rythm, and the sign its time to move.
You feel the hands of thunder reaching out to touch
The lightning you forgot was still hidden in your groin.
Everything else you know doesn't matter that much.
Lets find our masks and guns and go find the coins
That only we know were ours, but still belong to us.
You will know the answer to the riddle in her cries.
You will remember every word you ever heard.
You will finally know why you did the things you did.
You will agree with all the reasons why she left.
You will see there's no wrong, but only right.
You will see the ***** dreams she dreams at night.
You are the ****** and the *****
You are the guard at your master's gate.
You'll hear the the secret that you feared.
The music of the game of masks.
You'll know the end has come and gone.
The sound of lightning when it comes around.
On the day you kneel down.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
The candle that flickers in the distance
The night-light that illuminates the room
Still doesn’t protect me from the monster
That isn’t really there
He lives in the darkest corner of my room
And waits until I am asleep
To lurk into the faint light
And show his faceless face
As I awake from my slumber
He puts a trace on my soul
So that he can safely approach
My defenseless body
I lie their as still as a statue
I try hard to let out a scream
And when nothing comes out
He stands over top of me
He knows he is winning
When he stares into my petrified eyes
But when I look back at him
I wonder if he is trying to make me stronger
He takes his nonexistent hands
And places them onto my chest
And with increasing pressure
He squeezes the breath out of my body
I gather all the strength I have
Trying to force a movement
And just when I’ve given up
I feel my toes wiggle
Relief rushes through my body like a drug
And finally the movement transfers
From my toes to my legs
From my legs to my entire body
I break free from his despicable clutch
And I let out an ear piercing scream
I spring out from under the covers
In hopes that I catch my terrorist
I hear the stomps of my parents
Coming from the hallway
They enter my room
Before I can tell them “no”
And the hall light produces
Just enough light
To make my demon
Disappear
I hang my head in defeat
My parents make sure that I am okay
And after they tuck me in I lie in bed
And wait for him to visit again.
Dec 30, 2019
Dec 30, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC